Melody
by geraldine01
Summary: Scott Lancer, along with Johnny, is led on a merry chase by a beautiful woman and some dangerous Comancheros. Family, het, adventure. Originally written in 2007. 14 chapters. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Fandom: Lancer  
Rating: Teen  
Genre: family, het, adventure

MELODY  
by Geraldine  
Summary: Scott and Johnny are led on a merry chase by a beautiful woman and some dangerous Comancheros.  
Notes: Written in December 2007, but there is no time limit on wanting feedback! I haven't looked this over for a very long time, but I'm posting as is.

CHAPTER 1 - THE AWAKENING

The only way to have a friend is to be one.  
Go oft to the house of thy friend, for weeds choke the unused path.  
~ Emerson

Scott, lying on his stomach on a soft feather mattress, was slow to awaken. Even with his eyes still closed, he was aware that it was early; the sounds of the normal ranch routine had not yet begun. He rolled from his stomach onto his side and realized he was not in his own bed. A second later his foot encountered the soft calf of a woman's leg and his arm came in contact with soft female curves.

He shifted so he could view the woman with whom he was sharing the bed. Her long reddish hair was in disarray, obscuring her features, but he didn't need to see her eyes to know they were pale blue, that the eyelashes that fanned over her freckled cheek were dark and long, or that her pleasantly shaped lips were so very enticing.

As he smiled, she awoke and looked up at him with startled eyes. They were, indeed, pale blue. Her hands rose to cover her face as she moaned.

Breaking into a full grin, Scott pulled her hands away from her eyes. "What kind of greeting is that?"

She started to sit up, clutched at the coverlet in an attempt to hide herself from his inquisitive look, and cried, "Don't!"

"Don't what?" Scott tugged at the bedclothes and caught a glimpse of some lacy undergarments. "I saw a sight more than a bare shoulder last night, Melody."

"Don't be so darned chipper first thing in the morning." She sat upright in alarm, her unruly curls tumbling over her milk-white shoulders. "Oh my! The men will be up and about any time now!" She pushed at Scott's bare chest. "Get out of here, Scott! If even one of them sees you, it'll be all over the county before lunchtime."

He replied smoothly, "What difference does it make if we know it's not true? Remember how Goldsmith said, 'she never followed wicked ways, unless when she was sinning.'"

"Don't you throw that fancy poem at me again. You may very well find this amusing, but I'll never have a moment's peace if they think I'm a loose woman. Get out!"

Scott lay back and laced his fingers together under his head. "I'm not going anywhere, Mrs. Lancer. That has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Mrs. Scott Lancer." He smiled with satisfaction as she struggled to remove a ring from her left hand and failed.

"Oh, for Lord's sake, Scott, do you really think that us getting hitched by some drunkard calling himself a judge in that one-horse town is legally binding?"

"Yes, Melody, I do. I aim to hold you to those promises we made, too. To love and to cherish, to obey, to refrain from brow-beating each other, weren't those some of them?" he teased.

"Well I am not about to obey anyone, much less you, so get the dadgum out of my bed! Besides, I didn't know what I was doing, due to you plying me with rye."

"Hey, hold on there. You're the one that ordered that bottle, missy. Besides, you know I don't need to get a gal tipsy."

"Huh, typical man." She flipped her hair back and glared at him. "Makes no never mind to me. The end result's the same; we did something to regret."

"I don't regret anything, Melody." Dismayed, Scott reached out for her, but she slid out from under the covers and escaped into her dressing room next door.

She called over her shoulder, "Start the stove fire in the kitchen on your way out. Shooting stars, I need some coffee!"

Scott sighed and reluctantly got out of bed. He slowly picked up his clothing that was strewn around the room. Its trail went all the way out into the hallway, reminding him of the haste they had been in to consummate their marriage. He grinned at the memory - they'd both been in an all-fired hurry.

In the light of day he was starting to have doubts about the credentials of the man who'd called himself 'the Judge.' Scott called out, "Melody?" He could hear her sloshing some water around and then banging a drawer in her dressing room. Even though she didn't reply, he continued, raising his voice to compensate for the door that stood between them, "I'm going to ride into Green River and drum up the Justice of the Peace, so we can do this right. Or maybe you'd like a real wedding? How about having it at Lancer? We can invite everyone in the county and put on such a great party they'll forgive us." When there was still no comment, Scott picked up his shirt and started to button it up. "If this is about my father. . . he'll be fine with us getting married once I tell him how much you mean to me, Melody."

Finally she stuck her head around the door to peer at him, her expression serious and somewhat worried. "Scott, we're a little late to be getting married the right way, aren't we? Your family isn't going to be pleased, and everyone from here to all the way up the valley will say it was too quick, that we had to get-."

Scott pushed the door open wide, took hold of her bare shoulders and pulled her into his arms. Despite her becoming stiff at his touch, he wrapped his arms lovingly around her. "Melody," he said adamantly, "if I'd taken six month to woo you like some callow youth, taken you out on picnics, and escorted you to the barn dance . . . would that make my love any more true than it is?"

She went soft in his arms and presented her face to him, inviting a kiss. "I'd have died if I'd a-waited six days, much less six months, and you know it, Scott Lancer."

Scott needed no further encouragement and swept her into a passionate kiss. When she eventually pulled back, with eyelids half-closed with lingering ardor, he asked breathlessly, "How did this all start, anyway?"

"As I recall," she said with a smile, "you brought some cattle over to my ranch."

~•~

Earlier . . .

"Archibald Stewart has been a friend to this family ever since the Lancers came to California back in '45," Murdoch said. "He and his wife took refuge here many a time back when Haney's raids were going on. For all of us, there was safety in numbers. Archibald's wife, God bless her, was best friend to your mother, Scott. When Catherine was close to having you, it was Mrs. Stewart who was the rock she clung to.

"Archie and I were out riding down the outlaws and only had a couple of old men to stay behind to care for the women. But Allison, she taught Catherine how to load the rifle and even taught her to shoot straight." Murdoch ran a hand over his mouth as he recalled his first wife and the troubled, dangerous times they had lived in. "This was a wild country back then."

Murdoch was lost in thought for a few minutes, then looked up at his two sons patiently waiting to hear the rest of his story. He continued, "Anyway, we owe that family a great deal, and even if there's only one of them left standing, we will pay our debt to that person. If Melody's her father's daughter, she'll do all right. So go and deliver the cattle to Stewart's daughter, as agreed."

~•~

"Well, it ain't like she's married, Scott." Johnny let out a piercing whistle and spurred after a straying calf before Scott could reply.

Pulling his bandana over his nose to keep the dust and the stench of the cattle out of his nostrils, Scott rode his cow pony alongside the small herd and wondered how he'd been talked into the task. He hated dealing with cattle in any form, and had generally stuck to the financial side of running the Lancer ranch for the past couple of years.

Johnny, on the other hand, had grown skilled with handling the cloven-hoofed beasts, and seemed to be genuinely interested in all aspects of the animals, from breeding to their health issues. He made a good trail boss and had been the man to drive the Lancer herd to the railhead for the past several seasons.

Johnny galloped back to Scott's side. He pulled his red kerchief down off his nose and revealed a grin. "You sure it's not the lady that's makin' you drag your heels, brother?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Scott testily.

"I'm talking about Señora Melody Mendoza. You used to have your eye on her, didn't you? Back when you'd just got here and were still wet behind the ears. Back when she was plain Melody Stewart, just a nice Scottish girl."

Even though Scott knew that his brother was poking at him in the hope of eliciting some strong reaction, he replied calmly, "Fernando Mendoza was my friend, Johnny. I was happy that she agreed to be his bride. Happy for both of them."

"Yeah, but that was a few years ago and now she's back and wearing widow's weeds."

"We're just doing a neighbor a good turn. Besides, Murdoch and Archibald Stewart went way back, so this is the least we can do for his daughter."

"His widowed daughter," Johnny pointed out.

Murdoch had agreed that two hundred head of stock would be sold to the S-Bar-M, to replenish the neighboring ranch's depleted herd. Scott had been reluctant to allow them to carry a loan, especially now that a woman was running the ranch alone. "It remains to be seen if she can bring them to market on her own," he said to Johnny.

"All she has to do is keep them safe, fed and watered, then once roundup comes around, we'll bring her herd in with ours and get them all to market." Johnny added, "Murdoch lost a good friend in Mr. Stewart. When his sons died of the fever, he went downhill as fast as bullet on a dry day."

"The whole family's had one tragedy after another," Scott agreed. The S-Bar-M had been a substantial spread at one time, but with the sons pre-deceasing their father, there had been no family to help Stewart out. The man had aged quickly and in no time at all he'd let the place get run down. With no one responsible around to keep an eye on things, much of the Stewart herd had wandered off, or been taken by natural predators and rustlers. Just before Archie Stewart slipped off to meet his Maker, the daughter had returned to lay claim to a ranch that had once been a rival of Lancer, but was now in sad disarray.

"Where's Melody been the past few years?" Scott asked, despite himself. He'd avoided talking about her or even listening to any conversation where her name cropped up, mostly because of his feelings of remorse. He'd been sweet on her back when he had been relatively new to California. The day after he had escorted the redhead to a dance he'd heard that she had become engaged to a local man, Fernando Mendoza. Scott had been disappointed beyond measure at the time. Now it all seemed a long time ago and his feelings for her had dulled.

"Where's she been? I'm not sure, but from what I heard," Johnny said, "Fernando got fed up with taking orders from her old man and she went with him to Texas. I been told they hit hard times."

~•~

Johnny gave some instructions to the Lancer vaqueros as they neared the S-Bar-M then returned to ride alongside Scott. "You knew her husband."

"Melody's husband? Of course I knew Fernando," he said with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "What about him?"

"I don't know. Just . . .how he was one of my first friends when I first came here. We used to go to the cockfights at the Helldorado until the mayor closed it down. Then he took the new missus to Texas soon after they got hitched." He paused then said, "Heard a rumor at the time he had a big fight with Mr. Stewart over a horse, that's why he left." He pulled a sour face. "Old Archie and Murdoch were cut from the same cloth."

Scott could still picture Melody on her wedding day, an affair he'd been reluctant to attend, yet had anyway. That must have been four, no five years ago. She'd been as radiant as any bride in her homemade dress of white fabric, trimmed with the Stewart tartan ribbons. Her veil of old lace, handed down through the generations, covered her red-gold hair. The next time he'd laid eyes on her was a week ago at the funeral of her father. This time she'd been veiled in black, mourning the passing of the remains of her family.

Scott broke away from his thoughts of her and focused on the husband. "Fernando. . . we played poker a few times." The man had been handsome in a wild way, his over-long black hair and blue eyes eerily similar to those of Johnny. He'd thought at the time that Fernando Mendoza was the epitome of everything Johnny used to be: unruly, impetuous, reckless. But Johnny had settled into the life at Lancer.

Fernando had wanted to raise horses, only it had been rumored he had taken the low road and had stolen a stallion to use as breeding stock. Nothing had ever been proven, but it had been enough to turn Archibald Stewart against his son-in-law. "I really liked Fernando," Scott said. It was true; he'd found the volatile man charismatic, as had many other folks in the area. That was why his sudden departure with Melody, with no explanation, had been so disconcerting.

"Yeah, I liked him, too. I heard he died in Texas in bad company. You think that's true?"

Suddenly irritated for no good reason at his brother's questions, Scott retorted, "I wouldn't know. Let's get this herd delivered before the sun sets." He dug his heels into the side of his horse and veered behind the cattle, pushing them along at a faster pace.

~•~

The Stewart-Mendoza hacienda at the S-Bar-M was similar to the adobe building the Lancers called home, though not so grand. With arched windows, a lookout turret, balconies, and roof tiles the color of red clay, it had an elegant appearance. But any resemblance to Lancer stopped there. The shutters were hanging at angles and adobe bricks exposed and crumbling. The shrubs along the drive were overgrown, fences were broken, a couple of cows meandered the yard and the small barn had a large hole in the roof. Allover it had a dilapidated appearance.

While the Lancer vaqueros moved the small herd to a pasture with access to a pond that was overgrown with brush, Johnny and Scott rode up to the house. There was nobody in sight, but a scruffy herding dog came around the corner barking. Scott was kept busy keeping his horse under control and missed seeing the woman walk up behind them. Once the dog had stopped barking and his horse had settled down, Scott noticed that Johnny was sitting on Barranca with his hands in the air.

Scott's hand slipped across the butt of his gun, but Johnny warned, "Wait!" Scott was unsure if the direction was to stop him from pulling out his revolver, or if it was to prevent the person behind them from shooting. In a split second, Scott made the decision to do as his brother suggested, and he, too, held his hands in the air. He turned slowly and faced Mrs. Melody Stewart-Mendoza.

She stood with the growling dog at her side and aimed the business end of a shotgun at the two mounted men. Even though she was wielding the weapon with serious intent, Scott looked right past the weapon. All he could see was that the pretty girl he'd briefly known had become a striking-looking woman. Gone were the black mourning clothes that had covered her from head to toe just a few days earlier.

Scott looked her over, noting the freckles and sunburn across her nose and forehead. She was wearing a shabby bolero jacket over a white blouse and a riding skirt. Her down-at-the-heel boots had a set of Mexican spurs strapped on with what looked like baling wire. A flat-brimmed black hat sat firmly on her head and although her hair was pulled back tight, several long curls had escaped and caressed her cheeks.

The first words out of her mouth were harsh. "If you boys don't raise those hands a sight higher, you're gonna get your fingers shot clean off!"

Johnny suddenly laughed. He stuck his hands up even higher and said, "I aim to stay in one piece, ma'am."

"You have a strange notion of hospitality," Scott remarked grimly. "We're the Lancers."

She lowered the barrel of the gun then grudgingly motioned they could put their hands down. "Didn't recognize you at first," she said, looking hard at Scott's face. "My dad always told me to be ready for trouble. No offense meant."

Scott remembered quite a different young woman who he'd escorted to a dance a few years back. He replied sourly, "I suppose I'm expected to say 'no offense taken' about this point."

"I'll just go and get the vaqueros to settle the herd down over in that pasture." Johnny wheeled Barranca around and rode off without waiting for an okay.

"Well, cowboy, I guess that leaves us to talk business." Melody peered up at him with one hand shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun. "You got the bill of sale in a pocket of that fancy jacket you're wearing?"

It was all Scott could to do concentrate on the job at hand once he looked into Melody's eyes. She looked desperately out of place on the ranch with her red hair and pale skin, even if he knew she had inherited her father's strong character. When he looked at her he could visualize the country her family, as well as his, had emigrated from - Scotland.

She said mockingly, "You should shut your mouth lest a bumblebee flies in." She turned on her heel and walked past Scott to the front door. She called over her shoulder, "Best you come in out of the sun, Mr. Lancer. Don't mind the dog. He's been fed today."


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, another chapter of 'Melody'! As I said in my headers to chapter 1, I'm not looking over this story before posting but I hope you enjoy it as is. I'd appreciate hearing your comments!

CHAPTER 2 - THE HELPING HAND

A couple of days later, Scott found himself on the road to the S-Bar-M again.

Ever since they'd returned from delivering the herd to Mrs. Mendoza's ranch, he'd been in a bad mood - though he wasn't sure why. Johnny had described the ranch to Murdoch in more glowing terms than the run-down place deserved, and Murdoch had promised to ride over with Teresa within a few days to be neighborly.

When Scott thought about the ranch, he found himself making mental lists of all the improvements the place needed. All he could see was the substantial amount of work it needed and the woman who was going to have to organize it all. The repairs to the outbuildings alone would take a couple of men several days. The streams were clogged with debris, there was no feed in the storage sheds to sustain the livestock, and worst of all there were no men hired on to do the most basic of ranch chores.

Murdoch had said that when Archibald Stewart's sons had died, the fire just went out of the old man. He turned mean and drove off his ranch hands, many of whom had been working for the Stewart family for many years. When Stewart had heard that Melody was coming home, a small glimmer of hope had returned, but soon after she had arrived he'd sickened and died.

When Scott arrived at the ranch, he marched to the hacienda's front door and banged on it, but his knocking elicited no response. He stood out front and listened. Apart from the lowing of the cattle out in the far pasture, there was no sound to speak of. The place seemed deserted. He was about to mount up again and ride out to check on the stock when he heard a noise. He couldn't quite make out what it was, but it sounded a little like a lamb crying for its mother. On foot he followed the sound, and it wasn't until he entered the barn that he realized that what he heard was the sobbing of a woman, coming from the hayloft.

After climbing a rickety ladder made dangerous by its missing rungs, Scott found the source of the crying. Melody Mendoza sat on a fresh bale of hay near an open door at the far end of the loft, her face in her hands, and she was weeping. With the light behind her, her coppery hair seemed alight. Her dress, plain and dark, made her skin appear pale and delicate. Boots with large, Mexican spurs peeped out from under the hem of her skirt, an incongruous touch, Scott thought. When he saw that she hadn't heard his approach, he coughed, which caused her to jump to her feet and spin around.

With one hand to her chest, she gave a gasp. "Geez, didn't your mother teach you not to sneak up on someone like that?"

"I didn't mean to-." He saw her left hand was wrapped in a dirty rag and it was bleeding right through the makeshift bandage. A couple of quick steps took him to her side and even though she pulled back, he grasped her arm firmly to assess the damage to her hand. "It must hurt like the dickens," Scott said.

"My, you must have been top of your class," she retorted.

Scott didn't flinch. "Yes, I was. Now stop struggling and let me look at your hand."

As he unwrapped the bandage inspect the wound, Melody averted her tear-streaked face. "I'm not crying because of some little scratch," she said irritably.

When Scott raised his eyebrows and waited to hear more, Melody just shook her head and sniffled. The wound was revealed; it was a long cut across the back of her hand, the edges ragged in parts. He immediately urged her to go down to the kitchen with him. "The cut's not deep, but if you want it to heal you need to clean it up better than this."

She looked at the gash. "It's fine. Just cut it on some wire. Daft of me." She raised her eyes to meet those of Scott. "I was aiming to tie some planks over the hole." She pointed above their heads where the sky was exposed through the opening in the roof. A couple of pigeons fluttered in through their own private entrance. "I got cut on the baling wire."

Scott saw that there were several bales of hay in the loft that hadn't been present a few days ago, and realized this woman had hauled them up by herself. "That's what ranch hands are for," he said as he turned back to her wounded hand.

Melody replied, "I grew up here, on the ranch, you know. Even if I went to boarding school over in Modesto, I came back every summer and worked alongside my brothers enough times."

"Where are the men my father hired for you?" That had been one of the favors Murdoch had done for Mrs. Mendoza. "My father's good at gauging character," Scott added, "and our segundo's brother, Roberto Cipriano, will make you a fine foreman."

"Two are out there working on the drainage, like you suggested, with Señor Cipriano overseeing them," Melody said. "I got word more are coming along in a few days, and a kitchen gal showed up last night. She's out back scrubbing the washing. Or maybe taking a siesta," she added wryly. "Soon enough the bunkhouse will be full again. But will they stay and work for a woman?"

"Things will come along fine," Scott said kindly. "It takes time, and you know we're here to help. Maybe some of the neighboring women can-."

"I don't need women to show me how to run my ranch, Mr. Lancer."

"I thought," he said in an exceedingly patient manner, "you might want some feminine company. You know, like a sewing circle. Don't you have those out here?"

She stared at Scott for a few seconds then burst out laughing. "You sure cheer me up with the curious things you say."

It took him a moment to recover but he found himself grinning. "Cheering people up is not my best talent, Ma'am."

Melody looked him up and down boldly with a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes. "You'll have to tell me what your best talent is then, won't you? I can only imagine. . ."

Suddenly the hayloft seemed very hot. "Right now my talent includes doctoring, so let's get down from here and I'll tend to your hand." He assisted Melody down the ladder by going first, solicitously steadying her with a hand on her elbow, his eyes averted as her skirt brushed his chest. The way she looked at his face when they reached the bottom told him she'd been as much aware of him as he had of her, but they proceeded to the house without any further ado.

~•~

The kitchen was so disorderly that Scott wondered if it had been used to stable animals. After some searching they found a cracked jar of salve in one of the messy kitchen's cupboards, then Scott cleaned and re-bandaged Melody's hand. She thanked him formally with a slight nod, then jerked her head in the direction of the wash house out back. "We'd better keep quiet lest we wake up the señorita."

Scott glanced over the widow's shoulder to the yard where could make out the form of a sleeping woman. "She's obviously worn herself out with all the cleaning she's done in this kitchen," he said with a straight face.

"Oh, Bernadetta's all right. She cooks well, at least." Melody asked, with uncharacteristic hesitancy, "You want to sit for a spell in the front parlor?" He nodded and she led the way into the large front room, which looked lived-in but was neater than the kitchen. There were account books and papers in piles on the couch and other signs that Melody had been using the great room regularly: old coffee cups, a plaid wool blanket, a needlework basket. There were Mexican religious artifacts adorning the walls, and much of the furnishing was as spare as in a monastery, but overall it was similar to the great room at Lancer.

Scott inspected a small shrine, a painted wood box with small, carved doors that hung near the fireplace. Inside was an old daguerreotype of a woman, with beads and small tokens adorning its edges. "These are milagros?" Scott asked, indicating small silver charms in the shape of animals and hands.

"Yes, they're folk offerings. That's a retablo my dad had made when my mither died." She corrected herself, saying, "My mother, I should say. My dad, he spoke like a Scot all his life, even though he came here when he was just a wee boy. We picked up a lot of his old country words. As he got older, he became obsessed with religion and saw hidden meanings in everything, saying that God was sending him messages. It was one of the causes of friction 'tween him and Fernando."

"Your brothers were like your father in looks, weren't they?" Scott pointed to a pair of photographs standing in a double frame on the mantle. "Did Dougie ever tell you about the time we rode through the floodwaters at night together? We'd been over in Flat Bend at a dance hall when we were really supposed to be rounding up cattle. I almost drowned but he grabbed my jacket just in time, hauled me to safety." He remembered the Stewart brothers as being hearty young men, and their deaths within days of each other had struck the community hard. "He was a fine boy."

Melody looked as if she was about to cry, but instead she went to a side table and picked up a bottle of rye. "You want a drink?" she asked gruffly without turning around.

"No thank you, Ma'am." Scott watched the young widow take a seat in a rough old leather armchair and prop her boots up on the coffee table. She didn't even recoil when her spurs raked into the wood, but due to the amount of scarring it already had on its surface, it appeared to be a habit with her. He was about to make a comment, but she turned her light blue eyes on him and spoke first.

"Like most folks, you're probably wonderin' what became of my husband," she said defensively. She waved away Scott's protest. "Heck, everyone has this look in their eyes, just asking. I can see it, plain as day. I'll tell you because I suspect you won't tell anyone else, except maybe that handsome brother of yours. You just seem to be a decent man, Scott Lancer, and there aren't many of them around, or at least I don't happen on them."

She sipped her drink and stared into the tumbler she cradled in her bandaged hand for enough time to make the silence uncomfortable. She heaved a sigh and said, "Fernando was everything I thought I wanted in a husband, but then I was a foolish girl and didn't have enough sense to spit. I should have listened to my old dad, I should have. Fernando wanted to breed horses. As if there weren't enough out on the range, ready for the taking," she scoffed. "My husband said they weren't good enough, that he wanted to breed a better animal."

Scott nodded, thinking of his brother and his chase after the wild horses - and their own father's reaction to it. Although he was interested in what the widow had to say, he felt vaguely uncomfortable at her easy way of confiding in him.

"Foolish, that's what Fernando was. He borrowed a fine stallion from someone up the valley, or so he said, but in the end the man wanted to press charges for theft." She shrugged. "That was only part of it, but Dad wouldn't stop ranting about how the devil was in his house. . ." Her voice trailed off and she gazed out the window, her thoughts miles away.

"So you left home for Texas?" Scott prompted.

She blinked and looked back at Scott. "Texas was just the first step to Mexico. That's where my husband died, in some backwater dust-hole on the wrong side of the border." Her voice cracked but she continued. "Fernando had kinfolk down there, and he took up with his cousins. He fell in with bad men. Comancheros, Mr. Lancer."

"Comancheros or bandits?" Despite their connections with Indian tribes and their wild ways, not all Comancheros were thieves, from what he knew about them.

"One's no different from the other these days. They were all running guns and contraband both ways across the border," she said. "Trading women and livestock, moving anything they could get an few bits for. I knew it would only be time before Fernando got caught up, and sure enough, the Federales came to know his name. We moved around some, hid out south of the border. You know, I was never afraid when I was with him, not of anything. But . . .but then a Texas man was murdered - one that the law cared about, not just some border tramp - and my husband was blamed. He swore he had nothing to do with it." She made a dismissive motion. "The Federales held him for a few days, then released him."

Scott raised his eyebrows. "He was lucky, then. From what I've heard the Federales are likely to hand a man a shovel and tell him to have one last prayer, even if they don't have any evidence against him."

Melody shook her head. "It turned out my husband wasn't so lucky after all. We were ready to return home, to California, but the night before we were going to leave, my husband went off on some errand with his cousins and never came back." She absently drank the remains of the rye and put her empty glass on the table. Without looking at Scott, she asked him, "You ever hear of a man called Paradine?"

Unsure, Scott said no, but then he recalled having read a news article about a man called Paradine, some months back. "He was the revolutionary who was working to get the workers to unite against the big haciendas?"

She nodded. "That's him, except he was a Comanchero who just wanted to incite the workers so he could get his hands on the wealthy landowners' property. I met him once – he could charm a snake, that's for sure, but. . . You see, those Federales had been trying to capture Juan Paradine for some time, but their men couldn't get close to him. The Governor down there wanted to string Paradine up in the town square to make an example of him, but at the same time that Fernando disappeared, I heard that Paradine had been killed. Shot up close."

"You think your husband got caught in the middle of an assassination attempt?"

"I don't know, I don't know. Paradine's men were looking for someone to blame. They went out of control, just killing and burning without any reason." There were tears running down her cheeks, but she made no crying noises this time. "I was searching for my husband, to plead for him to get out of there, but I couldn't find him and he. . . he never came home. . ."

Scott was finding Melody's grief hard to take. This silent weeping was somehow more wretched than if she had been wailing. He wished he had a handkerchief to offer the young woman, but all he could do was listen and hope her tears would soon dry up.

"I braved going to the Comancheros and they . . . they told me Fernando had died; they showed me his grave. My husband was dead! I had nowhere else to go so I came back here," she said hoarsely. She wiped her face with her sleeve. "I arrived home to find my brothers had been buried months ago, and saw my dad just before he died, and now I have this great crumbling place to take care of… and I'm afraid… that I can't do it alone. Imagine that. . .now I'm afraid."

Before he knew what he was doing, Scott was by her side and she rose up to meet him, to melt into his welcoming arms.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3 - THE PURSUIT

Murdoch drove a buckboard, filled with the supplies that his sons had loaded, to the ranch that had belonged to his oldest friend, Archibald Stewart. With Teresa at his side and a large hamper of food and a crate of supplies tucked behind the seat, they went to visit Mrs. Melody Mendoza.

Meanwhile, Scott busied himself around the Lancer spread all day, trying to avoid thinking of Melody, but failing miserably. With the help of a team of heavy workhorses, he labored alongside Johnny at the backbreaking job of excavating stumps that jammed the riverbed. When the brothers returned to the house at the end of the day, filthy and exhausted, they found their father and Teresa had returned from the S-Bar-M and were full of compliments for Mrs. Mendoza. "She had on the most elegant gown," Teresa said enviously when they'd all moved into the great room.

Not believing his ears, Scott asked, "She wasn't wearing some man's hand-me-downs and chewed-up boots with bull-riding spurs on them?"

Teresa looked at Scott skeptically. "Oh no, she wore a brocade dress that had a beautiful bodice with lace on it. . . here," she said as she indicated her own bosom. "Mrs. Mendoza even served us tea in her mother's china."

Johnny chuckled and slapped Scott's arm. "Sounds like they got better treatment than we did, brother." He threw himself into a leather armchair, ignoring Teresa's pointed look at his grimy clothing.

Scott turned to his father. "Has anything been done about the barn's roof yet? Can you believe she thought she could repair it herself with some old planks?"

Murdoch settled down in his favorite chair. "I suspect that young woman can do anything she sets her mind to, son."

Scott sat on an arm of the chair that Johnny was lounging in. "Just because she's come all the way from Texas or Mexico, or wherever, on her own, doesn't mean she has the practical sense needed to run a ranch. Plus she needs to show a firm hand with the ranch hands. I'm not sure she's going to be able to hold it all together."

"Well, Scott, you'll just have to go over on a regular basis and make sure everything is running smoothly," Murdoch replied.

Johnny peered up at his brother from where he sat. "Where'd you hear they were in Mexico? What part?"

A glance over at his father told Scott that Murdoch knew nothing about Melody and her husband having been in Mexico, and he feared that he had somehow spoken out of turn. "Don't people go back and forth across the Rio all the time?" Scott asked nobody in particular. "I'm going to get cleaned up, and so should you, brother."

Johnny sniffed at his shirt and raised his eyebrows, then followed Scott out of the room without needing his arm twisted.

~•~

After a cursory wash and a quick change of clothing, Johnny sauntered into Scott's bedroom, uninvited. Casually rubbing his damp hair with a hand towel, he leaned against the wall to watch Scott shave. He tossed the towel onto the bed and asked, "You're shaving again?"

"Makes me feel clean. You about ready for dinner?" Scott asked. He eyed Johnny's reflection in the mirror, watched him toss his towel onto the bed and cross his arms over his chest. His brother had an expression on his face as if he was weighing something up but hadn't quite come to any conclusion. Scott continued shaving and asked, "You've got something on your mind?"

Johnny frowned and asked sternly, "You kissed her, didn't you?"

Once Scott had removed his straight razor from the vicinity of his throat, he straightened. He took his time formulating a reply, and in the meantime Johnny spoke again.

"I can tell somethin's going on, Scott You can't fool me."

"I'd never try to fool you, brother," Scott replied sardonically. He went back to shaving, ignoring his brother even though he knew he was being studied.

Slowly a smile worked its way across Johnny's face. "Ahah! I can read you like a book, Scott. You did kiss her." He slapped his knee. "I knew it, just knew it!"

Scott finished with one last run of the razor across his chin, toweled the remaining lather off his face and pivoted to face Johnny. "Mrs. Mendoza doesn't need gossip bandied about her," he said sternly. He didn't want to show any emotion regarding the woman, partially because he wasn't yet sure how he felt about her, but mostly because he didn't want to be teased about it. To him, women were a serious subject, yet Johnny was apt to speak about them in a too-familiar way at times.

Johnny didn't take the warning to heart. "Aw, get off your high horse, Scott. She's a widow and you know what they say about a widow's meat being sweeter closer to the-."

The rest of Johnny's words were cut off when Scott pivoted and advanced threateningly on his brother, razor still in hand. His voice low and a near-whisper, Scott warned, "If I haven't made it clear so far, I want you to know that I'm offering Mrs. Mendoza my protection. I won't have anyone talk about her in that manner."

Johnny stood his ground, his face taut, but after a moment he understood what he saw in his brother's eyes and allowed, "You've made yourself clear enough. I guess I didn't see you were so sincere about the lady." As he eased up, so did Scott. Johnny added, "If you need any help, you just gotta ask, brother."

Scott turned back to rinse off his razor and put it away in his shaving kit. "I'll take you at your word. I'm going to escort Mrs. Mendoza to Flat Bend in a couple of days, to the stock sale. The cattle we drove over, along with the remainder of her own herd, will be enough for her to handle this year, but the S-Bar-M needs a lot more stock if it's going to become a prospering business again."

Johnny gave a sideways smile as Scott chose a clean shirt from his neat wardrobe and donned it. "You want me to go with you to Flat Bend? Unless three's a crowd."

Doing up a button at his collar, Scott replied, "We don't need any company, thanks, but you can work with Roberto to organize her wranglers and the new cowpokes who'll be at the ranch tomorrow morning. Just get him started in the right direction. He's looking forward to acting as the foreman, even if he hasn't had any experience."

"This okay with your widow-lady? She seemed sorta prickly about anyone helping her."

"I'll take care of smoothing out any wrinkles. You just go over tomorrow and show the men the lay of the land. All right?"

"Sure. We're all goin' into town in the morning, but I'll swing over to the Stewart ranch on my way home. You just be careful, brother, that you don't get too caught up with takin' care of your widow lady. We got our own spread to work." Johnny was about to leave but he stopped in the doorway. Almost as an afterthought he asked, "You said she and her husband were down in Mexico?"

"Did I?" Scott replied. He shook his head slightly. "I don't recall. They were living in Texas."

Johnny accepted that at face value and left without asking any more questions, for which Scott was relieved.

~•~

The next day was Saturday and the whole Lancer family went to town. Once there, each went his or her own way: Teresa to the plaza to check out the vendors in a search for fruit; Murdoch to the Rialto Bar to talk to his cronies from the Cattleman's Association; Johnny to el tienda del escopetero, Altovar, to pick up a repaired rifle and then on to the barber for a haircut; and Scott to the feed and grain to arrange a delivery to the S-Bar-M.

When Scott emerged from the dark feed store into the brilliant daylight, he spotted his brother, hair freshly shorn, just up the street. He was busy talking to a girl wearing a large straw sunbonnet. Just like Johnny to make a beeline for a pretty gal, he thought. Sauntering towards the couple, Scott noted how Johnny leaned towards her with one hand in his back pocket, the other casually touching her forearm. She appeared to be enjoying the attention.

As he got closer, Scott took in the young lady's pretty cotton dress in shades of deep pink, lace gloves and pointy-toed button-up boots. Probably the daughter of a rancher, come into town, wearing her Saturday best.

Johnny seemed to sense his brother's approach and turned to greet him with a broad grin on his face. The girl was laughing, bent over at the waist, a gloved hand to her mouth. She straightened, her blue eyes sparkling, her red ringlets framing her flushed face.

"You know Mrs. Mendoza, don't you, Scott?" Johnny teased. With his hand still on her arm, he urged Melody to face his brother.

"Ma'am." Scott touched the brim of his hat as he would to any woman.

She started to giggle then suppressed it, but her eyes were still smiling at something Johnny had said before Scott had joined them. Looking up at Scott, she greeted him jauntily. "Fancy meeting you in town, Mr. Lancer. From what your brother here's been telling me, I thought you'd be working, doing some book-keeping or counting cattle on your own ranch."

"There's a time and place for levity, but-."

"My brother," said Johnny somberly, "is a very serious man, as you can tell, Ma'am."

Trying to figure why Johnny still had his hand on the Widow Mendoza's sleeve, Scott had trouble recalling what he'd been about to say. He gathered his thoughts and replied, "We can't always agree on what is amusing, brother." Johnny and Melody stood close to each other, obviously enjoying each other's company and smiling at some shared joke, while Scott resented that he'd been cast as being humorless.

He also observed that his brother - in his short-cropped jacket with the fancy Mexican braid around the collar, the calzonera pants, and his near-black hair - looked very similar to the late Fernando Mendoza. Scott wondered if that was why Melody appeared to be attracted to him. Suddenly, he couldn't stand looking at them together, not while they seemed to be so much a couple. He gave a curt nod and quickly walked away.

~•~

The street reflected in the window of the barbershop was distorted by the imperfections in the glass, but when Scott heard the clatter of footsteps on the wooden sidewalk behind him, he could see the image of Melody Mendoza pursuing him.

She almost tripped in her haste and the clumsy act was followed by an unladylike curse. Scott spun around just in time to brace the young woman as she fell towards him.

"Darn shoes," Melody muttered. One hand on the brim of her straw hat, the other gripping Scott's arm, she looked up at his face pleadingly. "I'm sorry I made fun of you, Mr. Lancer. I really am, it's just that Johnny was tryin' to lighten my sad mood, and he made me laugh so hard and it was good, just for a change, and I've had an awful time worrying about the ranch and tryin' for Dad's sake to make a go of it, and all the time thinking I'm going going to mess it all up, you know?"

When she ended her long-winded explanation, Scott asked sternly, "Have you finished, Mrs. Mendoza?"

She stared up at him, her lips slightly apart as she searched his features for some sign of forgiveness. She nodded breathlessly. Her chest rose and fell quickly within the demure neckline of the pink dress she had worn to town, and Scott had to drag his eyes away from the sight.

"I'm going to give you a small piece of advice that a widow lady once gave me." Scott bent forward and said smoothly, "You should close your mouth 'less a bumblebee flies in." His smile started in his eyes and spread across his features at Melody's embarrassed expression. "How about," he suggested, more kindly, "I escort you to that little restaurant along the way?"

The sound of boot heels on the boards along with jingling spurs warned them that someone was approaching, but even though Scott recognized his brother's footsteps, he didn't take his eyes off Melody. The widow never looked away from Scott, and when she tentatively smiled Scott offered an invitation. "Ma'am, if you take my arm, we can be on our way before my brother bothers you again." Melody nodded and quickly took Scott's arm.

They ambled down the street, ignoring Johnny when he called after them, "I heard that! I wasn't botherin' nobody!" Then, "I'll be over to your ranch later, Ma'am."

~•~

"You're a good neighbor, Mr. Lancer," Mrs. Mendoza said.

"We try to please. . ." Scott started.

They had found a table at Perry's Restaurant easily, due to the early hour, but as they ate and conversed the small eatery filled up. Soon they were jostling elbows with other locals who had come to town for the market day. Conversation was not private, and their presence together, even though they were situated in the far corner, was already giving the townsfolk something to gossip about.

"What were you going to say?" she asked curiously, seemingly oblivious to the eyes upon them.

"Well," he laughed, "I remember some lines from Goldsmith. I don't know if you've ever read him. It run something like this: She strove the neighborhood to please, with manners wondrous winning, and never followed wicked ways, unless when she was sinning." For a few beats Melody just stared at him across the small table, her eyes as big as saucers. At first, he was afraid he'd offended her, but then she laughed aloud.

"That's me to a tee, striving to please the neighbors," she said with barely-disguised sarcasm. She tilted her head to one side and brushed her loose curls back over her shoulder in a deceptively unassuming move. From under her lashes she examined Scott. "Do you think I've sinned, then?"

Color rushing to his cheeks, Scott replied sincerely, "I'm sorry, Melody! I didn't mean it like that-"

Melody patted Scott's hand with her gloved one in a conspiring manner. "I know how it is with men like you, sir, finding a need to verse poetry to a gal. Things are different back in Boston; you don't have to exert yourself for my sake."

Scott leaned forward until he was only inches from her face. He spoke softly. "I'll try to think of some lines a little more to your taste. I've been wasting all my book learning on the cattle, trying to keep them quiet by reciting poetry aloud when we're on roundup. There can be some mighty long nights when you're watching over a herd of cows. Luckily, we now have a railway spur close enough we don't need to drive them to market any more."

"Somehow I can't see you riding herd on cows, Mr. Lancer." She chuckled. "Or not finding any pleasure in it."

"We do what we have to, to keep the ranch running on a profit, Mrs. Mendoza. My brother's more the cowpoke." He smiled at the picture of Johnny's enjoyment when riding herd on cattle - so unlike the gunslinger he used to be. "I doubt he envisioned he'd become a member of the cattleman's association when he first arrived at Lancer."

Melody observed, "I must say that you and your brother have been more than kind to me." Scott protested, but she continued, "Johnny's coming over this afternoon to work with the men, but I know I'll have to give the orders right from the start or they'll never take them from me as time goes on. You have no idea how dark things seemed just a few days ago. I've been missing my husband," she said as she looked across the restaurant with a faraway look in her eyes. "I was feelin' mighty maudlin, thinking of how Nando would have taken charge of the ranch if he'd just been here. I made myself dress up and come into town, even though it was awful hard. I really needed a lift to my spirits and Johnny stepped right up to the mark. He was very sweet."

Unsure if she was talking about her late husband or Johnny being sweet, Scott was about to ask, but an overly loud voice from two tables away caught his attention.

"Some women just have no sense of decency," a matronly woman declared. Her portly husband leaned over the small table and spoke to her in low tones. She straightened her corseted back and replied, for all to hear, "No, I won't hush, Reginald. If this little town is going to become a respectable place to live in, we need to set some standards."

Scott, who knew the couple to be a recently arrived banker and his wife, tossed his checkered cloth serviette on his empty dinner plate and stood up. Even as his chair scraped back noisily, Melody's hand flew out to grasp his wrist. She looked up at him beseechingly. "Don't," she said in a low voice. "I get this all the time, but it doesn't matter to me." She took a last bite of her meal then dropped her fork on the empty plate. "The food's better than the clientele."

Scott swallowed the retort he planned to say to the rude woman, and instead helped his lunch companion to rise from their table. "I'll be pleased to escort you out of this little establishment, to someplace where the air is cleaner," he said clearly.

Melody accepted Scott's hand on her elbow and walked close by his side towards the door. They passed the table where the banker and wife sat rigidly. Scott would have walked by without making a fuss, for Melody's sake alone, but the woman made a show of whisking her skirts aside just as Melody passed her. Scott halted, his grip on Melody's elbow forcing her to remain at his side. "Mr. Chambers. Ma'am," he greeted with a gracious bow that even his late grandfather would have been proud of.

"Lancer," was the curt reply from the red-faced banker.

Although Scott greeted the banker and his wife with what he hoped was an overly pleasant smile, the woman refused to return his gaze or greeting. "You know, Mr. Chambers, this little town is growing by leaps and bounds . . .don't you agree?" Ignoring the nod that the banker gave him, Scott went on. "I think, that with the influx of people and the rate at which the ranches around here are growing, it would be a fine move for the cattlemen to join their interests together and form their own bank. A little competition is good for a town."

Scott clapped a hand on Mr. Chambers' shoulder. "Now that Mrs. Mendoza and the Lancers are in business together, and along with the support of all our other ranching friends, we'll have the corner on the market, don't you think? On the other hand, there may only be enough room for one such bank in this area, and we were here first. Have a nice day." He had to urge Melody towards the door, she was so taken aback at Scott's threatening speech. The moment they were outside he warned, "Not yet, they're still watching us. Where's your horse?"

She pointed wordlessly to a buggy just along the street. In no time at all Scott was seated beside the widow, slapping the reins on the back of the carriage horse and making good speed out of town.

The folks dining at Perry's left their dinners to spill out onto the sidewalk and stare after the receding horse and buggy. Later on, as they returned to their interrupted meals, several of the locals swore that they'd heard the Widow Mendoza and Scott Lancer laughing wildly as they drove away.


	4. Chapter 4

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CHAPTER 4 - THE TRIP

"Would you care to join me, to come back to Lancer with me this evening, Mrs. Mendoza?" asked Scott, once they'd wiped the tears of laughter from their faces. Melody hesitated, so he added, "I'd enjoy your company and I know Teresa would be pleased to have a lady in the house." He pulled on the reins and guided the buggy under a shade tree by the side of the road.

She said with apology, "I'd really enjoy the company, too, Mr. Lancer, but I have so much to do. I have to get back to my own ranch. Johnny's coming over, remember?"

Scott noticed that Melody called his brother by his first name and the spike of jealousy he felt surprised him. "Yes, but he'll be working with Señor Cipriano." He reached out and started to slowly remove one of her fine kid gloves, watching her face carefully to gauge her reaction. He was pleased that she didn't shirk from his touch as he continued to take off her glove. The hand he uncovered was bandaged and Scott held it gently. Her dainty fingers lay across his palm. "I tell you what, Mrs. Mendoza, you can visit Lancer another time, but only under one condition."

"Condition?" She raised her blue eyes to meet his, her expression changing from pleasure to wariness.

"Yes," he replied seriously. "You must call me Scott, and allow me to call you by your given name."

Melody shook her head. Her bonnet, suspended from a wide satin ribbon, slipped off her red-gold hair to hang down her back. "We shouldn't," she said, but she didn't withdraw her hand from his.

"Is this because I kissed you a couple of days ago? After you told me about Fernando's death?" He transferred his weight on the seat to face her more squarely. "It may have been due to the high emotion of the moment, but I don't regret it," he assured her.

She was quick to smile, indicating she had no regrets either. "You've been more than helpful. Your whole family has, but I think that you'd be best to stick to your side of the river and me to mine, so to speak."

"Because of what people say, like those back in town?"

"Oh, I don't give a stuck pig what they say. I don't, truly. I don't mind fighting my own battles, but you shouldn't waste your time trying to get them see your way. They think that 'cause I wasn't wearing black that I'm not mourning the loss of my family. They'll never understand and there's no point in you trying to change that. I don't want to see your name gettin' dragged down, is all."

He took a leap of faith and touched her cheek with his palm. Her immediate reaction was to let out a sigh as she smiled tremulously, but the best thing of all, Scott thought, was the look of ardor in her eyes, albeit fleeting. He asked persuasively in a low tone, "Whose name don't you want to see getting dragged down, Melody?"

Her eyes opened wide. "Why, your good name, of course, Mr. Lancer."

He lowered his face until his mouth was only an inch from hers. "My name? I want to hear you speak my first name."

"Scott Lancer, I have feelings for you, and they hurt something awful," she whispered. Her fingers curled around his hand in an unconscious gesture.

"You'll have to learn to drop my last name at some point, Melody," he teased fondly. He waited for what seemed an age for her reply.

At long last she acquiesced. "Scott." She smiled and repeated louder, "Scott." Saying his given name was her final surrender, and it had barely been spoken when he sealed their love with a passionate kiss.

~•~

The brothers came face to face in the center of the Lancer barn some hours later.

Johnny finished wiping down Barranca and gave him a hearty pat. "See you found your horse. I wasn't sure if you wanted me to bring Victory home, so I left him at the livery."

"We circled back to town so I could pick up my mount after. . . after Mrs. Mendoza and I talked a bit."

Johnny asked with a straight face, "Where'd you go in such an all-fired hurry? You missed the fracas going on in Perry's. That banker's wife was whippin' her husband with her tongue."

Scott arched an eyebrow. "I thought you never ate there." He removed the saddle from his gelding and picked up a brush to clean him off.

"Nope, never eat there," Johnny agreed. After turning Barranca loose in the corral he returned to watch Scott as he wiped down his favorite mount. "But it seems it's the place to hear the latest news."

Scott shrugged. "What difference does it make? None of the gossip is likely to be true."

"I don't usually lend an ear to that kind of chatter, but it seems your name was bein' bandied about. You know me, I can't let no-one say nothin' bad about a Lancer."

Scott straightened up from rubbing down Victory's legs, his eyes narrowing. "My name?"

Johnny leaned against a post and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, your name . . . as it was connected to a certain lady's name." He didn't seem at all surprised by the look of displeasure that came across Scott's face, or by his lack of verbal response. "Look, Scott, people just get plain ugly when they think they can get away with it. Just goes to show you how small-minded they can be."

Scott absently stroked his sorrel's nose, and the animal responded by shifting his weight and nudging his master for more attention. "I know it seems like we only just met," Scott said as he turned to face Johnny, "but Melody and I have become. . . well, she means a great deal to me, Johnny."

Johnny, who didn't miss the use of the widow's first name, curbed the urge to make fun of his brother. "How much time you've known a gal has nothing to do with it when you've got feelings for her. Seems what matters is what road you take and if she figures somewhere in your journey."

"You're getting pretty poetic all of a sudden."

Johnny pushed away from the post. "I've been there, too, brother. Let's hope the old man remembers the whirlwind courtship he had with my mother when you explain it to him. By the way, I went by the S-Bar-M on my way back from town and Roberto and I had a talk with Mrs. Mendoza's men. They seem loyal enough to her. Most of them worked there before, for her father. I think they're glad old Mr. Stewart isn't around to yell at them any more. I'll tell you all about it at supper." He slapped Scott's arm on his way past, then started whistling a jaunty tune as he headed in for supper. "You comin'?" he asked over his shoulder.

~•~

"I'd like my mother's ring," Scott said, trying not to appear nervous in front of his father.

Murdoch looked at him without expression, a pretty neat feat considering that his eldest son had just told him his intentions regarding the widow Mendoza. "I'm not going to ask you if you're sure, son," Murdoch said, "because it's obvious from your face that you're sincere." He fiddled with a box on his desk for a minute, then added, "I know that a man's feelings can be overpowering at times, but I trust your judgment. I have right from the start, when you first arrived here."

Slowly, Murdoch smiled, an agreeable, pleasant smile, something Scott had not expected from his father.

Murdoch reminisced, "Archie Stewart and I used to talk about promising our eldest boy and girl to each other in marriage, and the women would scold us and say we'd had one dram too many. It became a ritual of sorts every time we got together for any celebration." His face fell. "Too sad our wives both left this world at such a young age." He shook off his thoughts of the old, past days and bent down to open the safe behind his desk. "The ring's in here, along with some other trinkets. There might even be a string of pearls. Yes, here it is." He pulled out a small velvet-covered box and laid it on his desk blotter.

Scott hesitated, as if merely handling his mother's ring would cement his intentions. But it was only a moment's uncertainty, a fleeting second of indecisiveness that many young men go through when they choose a partner for life.

"I hope you'll enjoy many years of marriage, son," Murdoch said.

Scott pulled the ring out of the box. It was a small sapphire, set with two even smaller diamonds on either side of the intense blue gem. The ring must have been quite an extravagance for an immigrant fresh off the boat to buy for his Bostonian bride. "Thank you, Father," he said emotionally. It was not worth a great deal of money, Scott was sure, but to him it was priceless.

~•~

First thing on Monday morning Scott was waiting outside Melody's front door. He'd risen early and arrived before the appointed time, so he saddled her horse for her and tied it to the hitching post in readiness for their trip. One of the wranglers ambled past on his way to the cookhouse, eyeballed him, then touched the brim of his hat in deference as he said, "Mornin', Mr. Lancer."

Sunday had been a difficult day for Scott. He'd attended church in Morro Coyo with Teresa in the hope of running into Melody again, but she never made an appearance. He'd been so quiet that Johnny had dealt him some sideways looks, and Teresa had asked him if he was feeling poorly. Determined to be patient, Scott reminded himself that he'd be in Melody's company for the entire day, come tomorrow.

When Melody finally came out of her front door, Scott just stood, with one foot on the verandah step, to admire her. Her outfit was suitable attire for the owner of a cattle ranch to wear to do business with the cattlemen they were meeting. Her long split skirt was dark gray wool, with a tight-waisted jacket to match. Frills of her white blouse spilled from the neckline, adding a touch of femininity to what would have otherwise been a severe dress.

Melody adjusted a black, Spanish-style hat over her hair, which was pulled back into a bun that sat at the nape of her neck, then she looked Scott up and down. "Morning, Mr. Lancer," she said, her cheeks flushing slightly as she made the formal greeting.

"I packed some food, in case we don't arrive at Flat Bend by lunchtime." If Scott expected Melody to give any sign that she'd expressed feelings of love just two days earlier, he was disappointed.

She pulled on kid gloves then mounted her horse with as little assistance from him as she could manage. She gathered her reins and said neutrally, "This is going to be a long day. No point in dawdling." They set off at a good pace, but had only ridden a mile up the road when Melody hauled back on her mount's reins.

Scott rode back to where she held her sidestepping mount in tight control and asked with concern, "Something the matter?"

"I just want to make something clear, Mr. Lancer." She sat in the saddle straight as a rod, with her chin raised a little, and looked him in the eye.

His heart sank. "Fine, Ma'am."

"On Saturday I was . . . overwhelmed by the events in town, and your kindness to me made me act towards you in a foolish manner. I am partial to you, Mr. Lancer, but if I gave you any reason to think that our. . . that it would lead to anything further. . ." She didn't shirk from meeting his eyes, and he wasn't at all sure that he was completely hiding his distress. She said worriedly, "It's too soon, you see, and. . ."

Scott waited for her to finish, but she swallowed and didn't continue. There was a knot in the pit of his stomach, and he searched for a way to put her at her ease without burning his bridges. "You have no need to fear, Mrs. Mendoza, that my intentions are anything but honorable. I assure you I have nothing but the highest regard for you." He cursed himself for lapsing into a formal pattern of speech he hadn't used since he'd left Boston. "Maybe you'd prefer to return home-."

Miraculously she smiled, even if it was tenuous. "No, of course not. I need to buy new stock and I've already put you out. I won't abuse your time, so let's be on our way."

He nodded and they started on their journey again. They occasionally talked as they rode, but it was some time before they were both at their ease. Their conversation turned to ranching and other neutral subjects, and along the way Scott learned that Melody had enjoyed her years at a boarding school in Modesto, and had read quite a bit of literature. They stopped briefly to eat the lunch he had packed, or more correctly the food that Maria had packed for them, and arrived at Flat Bend just after midday.

~•~

"Let's take a seat back there," Scott suggested when they arrived at the hotel restaurant. He took a firm grip on Melody's arm and guided her towards one of the private dining alcoves to the rear. Although the large hotel was the best place to get a meal, it was still a rough and ready establishment, more saloon and gambling hall than a place to eat. Even at this early hour the place was active and full of an assorted crowd: cattlemen, drovers, gamblers, tradesmen, and a few women of questionable morals.

Scott had initially assisted Mrs. Mendoza with her dealings with the cattle brokers, but in the end she bargained like a seasoned rancher, and they came away satisfied. Once the paperwork and banking was complete, Scott hired drovers to escort the cattle to their new home: the S-Bar-M.

When he and the lady took seats at a small round table, they could see the main dining and gambling area through the open doorway. Just as they settled down to peruse a solitary grubby menu, there was a crash of broken glass and a woman's screech of laughter sounded amidst the strains of a lively piano.

"Maybe we should go somewhere else," Scott suggested, standing up.

Melody didn't budge. She laid a hand on Scott's arm and looked up beseechingly. "Please, let's stay. I'm glad to see people having a good time. Sit," she encouraged.

When a harried waiter eventually appeared, Scott ordered food and a bottle of wine, but Melody quietly asked him if she could have rye to drink. Without batting an eyelash, the waiter told the gentleman that he would pour the lady some rye in a discreet glass. Once the man had left, Melody smiled. "I suppose it's not a ladylike drink, even around here."

"I suspect they've seen a bit of everything in this town," Scott pointed out. "Last time I was here there were more spittoons than chairs and it was a saloon, not an eatery. Looks like the town has grown a bit, with even women and children living here."

They talked over the business they'd done that day over at the cattle market, and agreed they'd driven a hard bargain. Melody seemed very pleased with the seed bull and the cattle they'd bought for the S-Bar-M. It had used up a good portion of the funds that Melody's father had left her, but Scott assured her the money had been wisely spent.

By the time the food arrived, Scott and Melody were discussing their ideas for improving the ranch. When they'd finished their meal and had consumed most of the liquor, the topic had turned to towns they'd visited in their lifetime and foreign places they hoped to see one day. Another shared bottle of wine brought the conversation around to people they'd loved and lost, and their visions of the direction they expected their lives to take. In all, Scott felt it was the best exchange he'd had since he'd arrived in California.

He also knew it wasn't the wine that made his heart nearly stop every time he looked at Melody. In the room's gaslight her hair shone as gold, her skin was creamy tinged with a becoming flush, and her eyes, so exquisitely pale blue, had a light in them that Scott had no doubt was reciprocal love.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 - THE JUDGMENT

"Oh I jumped in the seat and I gave a little yell  
The horses ran away, broke the wagon all to hell  
Sugar in the gourd and honey in the horn  
I never been so happy since the day I was born.  
Turkey in the straw, turkey in the hay,  
Roll 'em up and twist 'em up a high tuckahaw  
And twist 'em up a tune called Turkey in the Straw."

With a flourish, the piano player and fiddler played the last notes of the lively tune. The dancers dissipated and most of them headed back to the bar in the big saloon. Scott returned Melody to their dining alcove from the dance floor, and they both collapsed in their chairs.

"I don't think I've worked so hard at dancin' since, well I don't know when," Melody said. "My, that was fun."

He agreed, sorry that they needed to be back on the road, all too soon, and that he wasn't likely to get another chance to hold her in his arms for some time. "I hope that you'll allow me to escort you to some functions closer to home, Mrs. Mendoza," he said carefully. "Perhaps to a dance at Green River. After you've completed your period of mourning, of course."

Melody tilted her head to one side and considered him. "I am sorely tempted to take you up on your offer. You know I'm unlikely to wear black for a whole year, Mr. Lancer."

"Was that a yes?" he asked, wondering if the room was getting overly hot, or if he was feeling the effect of the wine he'd consumed.

"I will be mourning the loss of my husband my entire life, no matter what color dress I wear. And my father and brothers, their passing tears me up when I think about it." Melody pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. "I'll never forsake their memories."

"Of course not," Scott said. His heart felt as though it had taken a physical blow. It was just as he'd feared; the deaths of her husband and family were far too recent for her to allow him to become close to her. He shouldn't have suggested that she flout convention and step out with him. "I never should have asked you to dance just now," he said, with a nod in the direction of the piano player and the fiddler, who were starting another song.

Melody placed a hand on his sleeve. "I did enjoy it."

Scott looked at her fingers touching the cloth of his jacket, wanting to shake them off before he gave into temptation and drew them to his mouth for a kiss. He noticed she no longer wore a bandage on the hand that had suffered the cut, though it was still healing. But, without even thinking, he took hold of that very hand and turned it over to lay a kiss deep in her warm palm. He looked up and was pleasantly surprised to see her eyelids half-closing, her bosom heaving, her lips parting in reaction.

"Good Lord," Melody whispered. "I'm afraid I'm a might warm, Mr. Lancer." She gently withdrew her hand from his grasp and looked away, her cheeks flushed a rosy tint. She said softly, "Despite my recent widowhood, I do believe I might find room in my heart for someone, should he be a special man."

Scott quickly took the chance offered to him and reclaimed her hand as well as the other one. "Mrs. Mendoza. . . Melody." He swallowed hard, then stood and drew her to her feet alongside him.

She stood so close to him she was looking at his chest. "Yes, Mr. Lancer," she responded shyly. Her gaze slowly rose to view Scott's face.

"I can't wait," he said. He withdrew his mother's ring from where he'd safely stored it - in an inside pocket of his jacket. "I wanted to offer this to you, and my hand as well, when we were in some place a bit more elegant than this, but. . ." Scott quickly opened the little box, withdrew the small sapphire and diamond ring, and slipped it on her finger.

Appealing to him with her eyes, Melody asked with a laugh, "What took you so long?"

Scott needed no more of an invitation to sweep the widow into his arms for a kiss - a kiss that turned into several long, exploratory kisses - with both parties becoming so involved they forgot where they were. When they finished and drew slightly back from each other, they were mortified to find themselves the center of attention. The entire population of the town of Flat Bend seemed to be clustered just outside the alcove, grinning as they broke into wild applause. Some of the men in the back of the crowd cheered boisterously and took hold of their ladies to kiss them with enthusiasm.

The piano player pounded out the wedding march, and several of the hotel saloon's clientele came forward to shake Scott's hand and clap him on the back, offering loud congratulations.

A well-dressed man in a fancy waistcoat with a stogie clamped between his teeth, whom they were to later learn was the owner of the hotel, yelled, "Drinks for everyone! On me!"

"Let's have some more glasses over here," called the waiter to the barman, grinning from ear to ear. "These two might need some more whiskey to calm their nerves before they tie the knot!"

"We're not-" Scott shouted over the din.

Melody shook her head vigorously and strained to be heard. "Mr. Lancer's only my escort-" She looked down at the ring twinkling on her left hand and knew she couldn't protest that they were only there on business, not in the face of evidence to the contrary.

A drover wearing shaggy chaps gave Melody an impromptu hug, then pivoted, grabbed one of the dance hall girls, and kissed her with gusto. "Yipeee!"

Between the noise of the people eating in the dining area, the clatter of the roulette wheel, raucous cheers from the fellows at a poker table in the back, and the general din issuing from a mass of people doing their best to find any excuse to have a good time, Scott could hardly hear what was being said to him by the group of folks standing right in front of him.

"Haven't seen anybody here get hitched for a dog's age," said a barrel-chested man in miner's overalls, his booming voice carrying over the din. "Great to see young'uns finding love in a cesspool like this old town. Jus' what we need, some new life, some new folks to make Flat Bend a fine place to live. They don't call it Flatulent Bends for nothin'!" He roared with laughter and clapped Scott on the back earnestly.

"We're not from around here." Scott placed a protective arm around Melody's shoulder and leaned in to catch what the people were saying, nearly shouting in reply, just to be heard. "We're from-."

"It's no use," Melody called out. He bent down so she could speak into his ear. "They don't want to listen to us," she pointed out.

"Friendly lot," Scott replied. Just looking at her, the noise and confusion of the saloon receded into the background. He only had eyes for the lovely young woman at his side. "I think it's time to head home," he said reluctantly. It appeared that Melody hadn't quite heard him, so Scott raised his voice. "We have to go," he shouted.

"Wait a minute there, young man," called out an inebriated cowboy. "You're not gonna back outta wedding this gal, are ya?"

Scott held Melody close and signaled for the waiter to come over to accept the payment for the meal. It was high time they were heading for home. Even if it was only about eight o'clock, they had a long way to travel, even if the moon should be rising soon. The cowpoke and a couple of his rowdy friends tried to get Melody to join them on the dance floor, and as the loud conversation continued, with Scott trying to be friendly but firm, the man with the fancy waistcoat and two of his friends pushed their way to Scott's side.

"My name's Rutherford Bend. This is my hotel and saloon," he said. Drawing forth a tall man wearing an incongruous top hat, the hotelier shouted, "This here's the Judge." The man, an older gentleman, swayed a little on his feet and burped. "This fine gentleman," the Mr. Bend explained, "is Judge Thackerby, the closest thing we got to a parson." The man referred to as the Judge smiled vaguely as if he didn't really understand what was going on. He was dressed entirely in black, which made Scott wonder if the tall fellow's real job was undertaking.

Scott shook hands but made their excuses and edged his way past with Melody at his heels. He handed a few bills to the waiter as soon as he came within reach, but when he turned to head for the door to the street, he found that the way was blocked by a mass of noisy revelers.

Melody wasn't far behind him, but her attempt to stick to his side had been impeded by the owner of the hotel. The man clamped one fatherly hand on Melody's shoulder. "I'm Rutherford Bend, but just call me Red," the hotelier said loudly. "I insist! You come over here, Miss. Your handsome beau, too. Judge, step right up and do your damnedest with this fine, upstanding couple. Let's get this done! What's your name, my dear?"

"Let her pass by, please, sir," Scott said. "We appreciate your entire town's hospitality, but-." He took hold of Melody's hand and she gladly moved away from the overly friendly hotel owner and the crowd of unruly men who surrounded them. People pushed closer to see what the judge was doing, as if it was the finest entertainment around, and Scott suddenly lost hold of Melody. He called out her name and forced his way back to her side, to rescue her from the clutches of the judge.

Melody gratefully clung to Scott. "I told him our names. What does he want to know them for," she asked in a loud voice.

"They're just too friendly. Some of our fabled California hospitality," Scott presumed. "I think it's time we turned tail and ran," he added, with a confident smile just for her.

But Judge Thackerby stood right in front of the couple and wouldn't budge. "Melody Elisha Shtewart," he slurred loudly, for all to hear.

"We're leaving, Melody, so just hang onto me and don't let go, no matter what," Scott directed.

"Shcott Lansher," the judge intoned. "Before theshe good people-." The rest of his words were obscured by a gale of laughter from several women adorned with painted faces and low-cut dresses.

"Please, sir," Melody cried out, "We really have to leave." With an elbow and a shove, she made an attempt to extricate herself from the pressing throng. "Let me out of here!" Her voice raised in panic. "Will someone listen to me?" When nobody got out of the way, she started to pull a small handgun out of her purse and called out to nobody in particular, "I mean business!"

Scott caught sight of the firearm and grabbed Melody's hand before the gun had been noticed by anyone. "You can't, not in here!"

"I'm going to scream if I don't get out of this madhouse right this minute! I mean it, Scott Lancer. I do! I-."

Her words were drowned out by a sudden shout from somewhere nearby. "What?" Scott asked. He bent over so he could catch what she was saying. He was relieved to see Melody stow the small gun back safely in her purse.

Melody raised her voice in his ear, her cheek close to his own. She repeated, "I mean it!"

"Mean what?"

"I love you, Scott," she shouted to his face. "I have this feeling we were meant to be. Do you?"

To Scott, the crowded, hot, noisy crush of people disappeared. He was focused on the red-headed woman who took hold of his lapel and entreated him to feel the same way about her that she felt about him. He needed no more of an incentive to speak what was in his heart. "I do, Melody Mendoza. I have ever since I took you to that dance, back in-."

"I can't hear you. What?"

His words came forth like water bursting from a broken dam. "I do!" Suddenly Scott was being congratulated by men and women alike; several cowpokes patted his back with such force he coughed.

"I pronounce you man and wife!" the judge declared with a flourish, hands raised as he cried, "Halleluiah!"

It took Scott and Melody a moment to realize that Judge Thackerby had married them in the presence of an entire town of drunken revelers, and it took another several minutes to finally escape the press of bodies. The newlyweds wasted no time in claiming their horses from the livery, and rode out of Flat Bend at a flat gallop.

~•~

They slowed a bit once they were out of the town and on their way towards Spanish Wells. Once the road was made clear by the light of the rising moon, they pushed their horses at a fast pace - perhaps faster than was sensible. Neither Scott nor Melody discussed what had occurred in the town of Flat Bend, but they both thought about it all the way home.

It was late when they finally arrived at the S-Bar-M. Scott had every intention of simply delivering the lady safely to her door, then parting company. There was a lantern aglow out on the verandah to welcome her home and although there was also a dim light emanating from the bunkhouse beyond the barn, nobody appeared to be awake.

Anxious for any excuse to touch her, yet for some reason feeling tongue-tied and unsure, Scott helped Melody dismount. "I'll bed down your horse," he said.

She looked as if she was about to say something tat in reply, but perhaps due to exhaustion her response was simple. "Thank you."

"I'm sure that the stock you bought will make a difference by next season." He mentally kicked himself for talking about cattle when they were the last thing on his mind. Awkwardly shifting his weigh from one foot to the other, Scott offered, "Do you want me to light some lamps in the house for you?"

"No, thank you. I can manage." Melody slowly went in her front door, catching him returning her look when she glanced over her shoulder.

Scott led the horses to the barn, unsaddled her mount, quickly wiped him down, then settled him in one of the empty stalls. When he stepped outside and took hold of his own horse's reins, intending to mount up and ride back to Lancer, he saw a light go on in one of the hacienda's second-story windows. He stood there, staring up at her bedroom window and felt longing wash over his body, such a physical yearning that he took in a ragged breath. That was when he faced his feelings and admitted to himself that he just couldn't face going back to Lancer. Not now, not after she had told him that she loved him, right in front of all of those witnesses back in Flat Bend. Besides, they were married now, and if the power vested in the Judge was uncertain, Scott was willing to overlook any shortcomings.

The regard Scott had for Melody Stewart Mendoza had been lying quietly right below the surface ever since he'd first seen her years before. It had just been waiting for some catalyst to bring it forth. Now it had been released, there was no way he was going to be able to hide his love for her behind a genteel façade. He wasn't going to woo her at some slow pace set forth as being the traditional way by the town folk. All his life he'd paid attention to such conventions, but times had changed.

He backtracked to the barn, stabled his horse next to Melody's animal, then strode purposefully to the house. Fully expecting to be refused admittance due to the late hour and the impropriety of the situation, Scott prepared himself for an uphill battle. But when he knocked on the front door, it swung open within a couple of moments. Melody stood there, stiff as a rod. She had divested herself of her jacket and boots. She now wore only her skirt and blouse, along with stocking-clad feet, and her face was set in a serious expression.

"You sure took long enough, Scott Lancer," she said as the frown faded and a smile slowly dawned across her face.

Despite his almost desperate desire to take the woman standing before him into his arms, Scott cautioned, "Melody, we don't know if that judge was really-."

"The hell with the judge," she said, rushing forward. "I don't care if it was a sham or not." Her face tilted up and he met her with an enveloping hug and a devastating kiss. Scott entered and kicked the front door shut behind him. They found themselves on the stairs, then in the upper hallway, shedding clothing as they went, clinging to each other in passion.

When the door to the widow Mendoza's bedroom closed with a bang behind them, there was nobody to hear it, and no one to question the wisdom of their actions.

~•~

Now that it was the next morning, Scott faced the reality of the situation with his normal level-headedness. He poured coffee into Melody's mug then sat across from her at the kitchen table. With his new bride smiling sweetly at him, it wasn't easy to think straight, but Scott cleared his throat and said, "We need to get married properly. Even if that judge turns out to be a bonafide officer of the court, I'd like to give you a ceremony that's. . ."

"A bit less like a circus?" She raised an eyebrow and suppressed her mirth. One side of her mouth raising a little as she tried to contain the smile that was struggling to surface.

He grinned in agreement. "You deserve a proper wedding, with all the accoutrements a girl likes." He took her left hand in both of his, rubbing his thumb over his mother's ring. "I want to give you a wedding band, a band of gold. I need to tell my family and make the arrangements. They're going to be very happy to hear the news, I know."

The scruffy dog that had greeted Scott on his first visit to the S-Bar-M brushed up against his leg and lay under the kitchen table. Scott shooed the animal away. "Out! You don't belong in the house."

The animal's ears flattened and a growl issued from its drawn-back lips, but he didn't move. Scott leaned back so he could look the dog in the eye. "Go away," he ordered firmly. After a tense moment of wills battling each other for supremacy, the dog rose and slunk outside. "He knows who's the new master in this house," Scott said with a touch of humor coloring his voice.

"He'll go back to the bunkhouse where he's welcome." Melody laughed. "He was Fernando's, and just a pup when we left. Even if the dog's not too happy you're here, I am." She lowered her eyes to study their linked fingers. "Scott, I want to be fair to you, and I have to tell you that I can't just shed my union to my husband as if it never happened."

"I'm not asking you to, Melody. I don't expect you to forget him. I feel out of place here in his house, but if you want us to live here, well, I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy. This is a new beginning for us. . . this is the first day of the rest of our lives."

"You're a good man, Scott, but I need to tell you something before you decide I'm the bride you're looking for." Melody pulled her hands out of Scott's grasp, adjusted herself in the hard kitchen chair, folded her arms across her chest and looked away.

Scott could see Melody was trying to find the right words but every second that she hesitated to come out with whatever was bothering her seemed interminable to him. He spoke first, remaining calm and confident despite the turmoil that was making his stomach hurt. "You can't say anything to change my mind, Mrs. Mendoza."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6 - MAKING PLANS

Melody retorted, "Mrs. Mendoza? I thought my name was Mrs. Lancer now!"

Scott, chagrinned, realized his mistake. "And there I was just getting used to calling you Mrs. Mendoza."

She crossed her arms across her chest, obviously displeased. "You'd better get used to my new surname, Scott Lancer, or there's going to be some serious trouble."

"Yes, Ma'am," he said with mock alarm.

"This isn't amusing."

"No, Ma'am," he replied, failing to keep a straight face. Right away Melody rose to her feet, angry, but Scott reached out to stop her from leaving. "Melody, wait. . ." He gripped her arm, but almost immediately his fingers gently descended to hold her hand. He lifted her fingers to his mouth for a kiss then indicated the engagement ring she wore. "Our wedding may have been a sham, but I offered this ring and marriage, in all sincerity, my love." She softened and took her seat again and Scott did the same. He suggested, "You don't have to explain yourself to me, nor to anyone, but if you want to share something with me, I'm known to be a good listener." After a pause he added with an encouraging smile, "Mrs. Lancer."

"Scott Lancer, I aim to make sure you never forget that." Melody fiddled with the ring for a minute, then looked Scott in the face. "I do want to tell you. . . you see, I was loyal to my husband, probably more so than I should have been. When he started riding out on raids across the Texas border with his cousins, I knew that no good would come of it. I don't think at first Nando comprehended how brutal those Comancheros were, and by the time he saw what he'd got into it was too late to get out. He told me about some of the terrible things they did." She shuddered.

"Nando said the money was too good to give up right then," she continued, "but he promised he was going to do just a few more raids with them. When he didn't return and neither did his cousins, I went to the Comancheros' camp to ask where my husband was." Her gaze dropped downward, but she went on in a matter-of-fact way. "That's when I learned he'd been killed. They'd been negotiating for the sale of some stolen guns with the Comanches, but it went bad. They lost several men - that's what one of those men told me."

When Scott reached out and touched Melody's arm in a comforting gesture, her lips trembled, but she continued. "Nando's cousins were younger than him - Pietro wasn't even fifteen, but they said they died as men. The Comancheros, they're hard men. . ." Her words trailed off, with her eyes focused on past events.

When Melody started up again, she spoke fast, as if she wanted to get her story out and be done with it. She said somberly, "They must have become tired of me pestering them because they eventually showed me the place where the men had been buried. All of them in one grave. No marker or anything. They said that was the Comanchero way." She swallowed her tears before they came to the surface. "I paid some local men to dig up the remains of my husband, and those of his cousins, and moved to a cemetery. It had to be done at night because the gravediggers were so scared of the Comancheros." She looked at her cup of coffee and waited for Scott's response, her shoulders raised a little with tension.

"I tried to find out more about my husband's death, but they told me in no uncertain terms that I shouldn't ask any more questions. That camp was no place for a woman, and I was lucky to get away. I'm fortunate to be sitting here today talking to you, I know, but I didn't want to leave him, leave Nando there. I know he did things that were wrong, Scott, I know it, but he was my husband and I was willing to go to the end of the earth with him." She wiped a tear away with the heel of her hand. "I was scared. . . I didn't want them to sell me to the Comanches, so I left. . . and made my way back here."

Melody's tale touched a chord with Scott. He knew just how lucky she'd been to get out of the clutches of the Comancheros in one piece, and for any woman to travel all the way from Mexico to California on her own was an admirable feat. "Your father would be proud to know his daughter is so brave," he said consolingly.

Melody shook her head and didn't look up. "More like stubborn."

Lowering his head so he could peer into her down-turned face, Scott assured her, "People have been telling me for the past three years that I should be wed, Melody, but it never seemed to be the right time. . . until now. I haven't had a doubt, since I found you up in the hayloft, that you're the woman I've been looking for. Honey, this wedding might have happened in a rush, but ever since that judge spoke the vows over us, I've known in my heart it was meant to be." He smiled encouragingly. "I want you to be part of my family."

Melody finally raised her face. "I would love to be part of your family, Scott, but I'm not so sure they'll feel the same way about me. I'll bet a goose to a gander they don't want you to bring home a stubborn old widow for a bride."

"They will expect me to bring home a woman I love enough to make my wife, a woman who'll be my companion for life. I know that you fit that bill, Melody."

"But what we did. . ." Her voice sank to a whisper. "I mean about our getting hitched back at Flat Bend and what we did later. . ." She glanced up at the ceiling, towards the bedroom above, and caused Scott to grin. She admonished, "Scott, don't you smirk about it! This is serious. And there are so many things we need to talk about."

"Such as?" He brought her hand towards his mouth, turned it over and kissed the palm.

Melody's eyelids half-closed, then she snatched her hand out of his grasp. "I can't put two thoughts together when you do that."

"This is not a time to think," he replied silkily. He reached out again.

She avoided his attempt to reclaim her hand. "Good thing there's a table between us. Well, where are we going to live? What do I do about this spread? Are we going to live with your family? I can't just give this ranch up . . .this is my home, but if you think we should reside at Lancer. . ."

Scott sat back and crossed his arms. "I'm usually the one who wants to make plans, but I tell you what, let's take everything one step at a time. First, I'll ride to Morro Coyo and talk to the priest about a ceremony. Then I'll go back to Lancer and put out any fires that break out when I tell them the news," he said jokingly. "I'll come back here for you, say around six, take you back to Lancer for supper. How about you plan on staying for a couple of days, until the wedding? Teresa will be happy to help you with the details."

Melody thought about it, then she slowly nodded. "Reckon I could give the men here enough orders to keep them busy for a few days. Señor Cipriano has them rounding up the rest of the strays right now, but the ranch isn't just going to stand still because we've got other things on our minds."

He made fun of her, asking, "So you've got other things on your mind, have you?" Then he added with sincerity, "Together, we can make it work. I know we can."

They stood up at the same time and met at the end of the kitchen table, wrapping their arms around each other in perfect harmony. Without a word they kissed, soft and slow. Several minutes later, Scott said in a husky voice, "You know, Johnny was right about one thing. The closer I get to you, the sweeter you are."

~•~

They parted reluctantly. Scott returned to Lancer wishing he could hurry sundown. The first person he encountered once he got back home was Johnny. They passed on the stairs, but Scott just raised a hand in greeting and he hurried up to his room to wash and change.

Johnny turned and dogged Scott's heels all the way into his bedroom. "Whoa there, brother! You can't just walk on by without answering some questions. Where've you been all night?" Johnny crossed his arms and leaned against the dressing table, his eyes fixed on Scott as he washed up.

"Hand me that towel," Scott ordered casually. "What can I say? You're looking at a happily married man."

"You what?" Johnny looked shocked. "Are you crazy? That woman isn't gonna settle down with the likes of you after being married to the likes of Fernando Mendoza."

Scott stiffened. He never had expected to be met with animosity from his brother. "We're leaving all of that behind us, starting a new life, and I'd appreciate it if you meet my bride with a smile of pleasure on your face, even if you have to fake it, and what's more-"

Johnny's face lit up with a grin. He slapped Scott's arm and let out a laugh. "Don't get so darned prickly, brother! I'm just pullin' your leg."

Scott shook his head in disbelief. "You sure had me going for a minute there."

"Well, congratulations. So you deloped, did ya?" he said jokingly. "Smart move, 'cause I was ready to move in if you hadn't taken up the reins with the widow. Looks like Scott Lancer has met his match." Johnny's smile changed to a wary look. "Have you told the old man yet?"

"He knows what my intentions were because I asked him for my mother's ring, to give to Melody. He seemed fine with it." Scott removed his shirt and brushed Johnny aside so he could open his bureau drawer. He pulled out a fresh shirt and donned it. "Do me a favor though, Johnny, and don't repeat what I said about last night to Murdoch." He slowly did up the buttons and said, "Melody and I had a civil ceremony but now we want to have a church wedding right here with all the family. I'm going to make the arrangements while she comes here to stay. Just for a few days, until I get this all sorted out." He took a deep breath and told his brother about the judge in Flat Bend.

Johnny took in the details of the civil ceremony with raised eyebrows, but offered no comment on it. He said confidently, "Melody will be welcome here, Scott, we'll see to that. No need to worry, no need at all."

~•~

Murdoch poured a couple of drinks and sat down for a discussion. He didn't ask where his son had been, nor pose any awkward questions. Instead, he nodded wisely, gave some cautious advice on marriage and seemed genuinely pleased. "I can't say I'm too surprised, son, that you found Melody to be the woman you want to marry, but are you sure you're not rushing this a bit? Shouldn't you have a term of engagement? After all, her husband died only a few months ago."

"I believe that's all behind her and she's anxious to make a new start," Scott said. "I think she had a very hard time making her way back to California by herself. That journey isn't one a woman should have taken alone, as you know. And getting her family's ranch into working order is a big undertaking, but we plan to build something together."

"The important thing." Murdoch said, "is you're happy about this, son. You'll have the rest of your lives to live right here in California," He reached out to clamp one hand on his son's shoulder, and extended the other to shake hands. He added sternly, "Just don't let me hear that you've stayed overnight at her ranch anytime before the wedding."

~•~

Finally the day was fading and Scott was on his way to pick up his fiancée at the S-Bar-M, driving the best buggy the Lancers owned. There was plenty of room behind the well-sprung vehicle's seat to stow any luggage she'd be bringing along.

Scott whistled between his teeth as he strode up to the front door. "Your coach has arrived," he called out, knocking on the door lightly. After a minute, when there was no reply, he knocked with a bit more force. He was about to just enter, without any invitation, when the door opened only a few inches.

Melody stood there, half-hidden by the door. Her attempt at a reassuring smile barely concealed some underlying worry. "Something has come up," she said in an unsteady voice.

Even though Scott could see that something was bothering Melody, he teased, "You're not ready? A nervous bride?" She shook her head but didn't open the door any further. Concerned, he asked, "Are you all right?" Fear struck him, accompanied by images that Melody had changed her mind, or that she was ill, or even that she no longer loved him. "Melody?"

Her glance dropped. "Please, Scott. . . I can't go with you."

He stepped closer, but she didn't allow him in. With her foot braced against the door, Scott couldn't easily force his way past her, although he dearly wanted to.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Just go home, Scott."

"Are you all right? If you're not well, I can-."

She cut in, to say loudly, "I'm fine." She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then raised them to meet his imploringly. "I just can't go with you this evening. Maybe. . .maybe things have gone too fast. Please just go."

The plea she was making worried him even more than her initial excuse. Scott placed a palm against the paneled door, and although he gave it a slight push, she looked alarmed. "Melody, I just want to make sure you're all right. I can't leave you like this, looking so unhappy. What happened about the way we felt last night? And this morning?" Even as he asked for some explanation, tears welled up in her eyes. But if he'd expected them to be a sign that she was giving in, he was mistaken, because she firmly shut the door in his face.

Scott stood on the front step, wondering what had just occurred. Perhaps this was a case of pre-wedding jitters; Melody might still have some misgivings about remarrying. It certainly wouldn't be the first time in history that a bride balked at an impending marriage.

There had been no sign of anything amiss last night; their lovemaking had been passionate and pleasurable and sincere. He knew she had enjoyed their physical union and, indeed, she had seemed almost anxious at times in her attempts to please him. For him, the night had been full of wonder and had given him an unusual sense of freedom. The fact that Melody had been previously married had proven to be a good thing, for she had brought experience to their bed that had made their bonding all the more rewarding. Even this morning, despite her protestations about the impropriety of his presence in her bedroom, he knew that she was as pleased as he was by their mutual discovery of love.

But now Scott was unsettled by Melody's rejection. He reluctantly swallowed his pride and concern, and decided to give her until the morrow to think on things. He'd return then to talk it out with her. He didn't want to be driven off the premises with no explanation or any chance to confirm that their wedding would take place as planned, but the front door showed no sign of reopening.

The dog barked from somewhere in the recesses of the large house, then stopped. Scott stood on the verandah to take a moment to look around the yard. There seemed to be nothing amiss, but it was very quiet, as if the place was holding its breath. Beyond the bunkhouse, a couple of ranch hands were sitting in the shade of a tree, playing cards. One of them won a hand and the sound of his laughter came across clearly in the still air. There was smoke coming from the chimney of the cookhouse, but no sign of any other movement. Scott remembered that Roberto, acting as foreman, had taken most of the men out to round up the remainder of the S-Bar-M's cattle. They wouldn't be back until the next day.

The rejected bridegroom returned despondently to his buggy. He took up the reins and gave them a slap to get the horse on his way, but after he'd only gone a few yards, he hauled back on the leathers. Suddenly incensed, he turned in the upholstered seat and glared in the direction of the house. "Damned woman!" He jumped out of the buggy and marched back to the front door. This time he gave a perfunctory knock and entered the house without waiting for an invitation. He could hear Melody moving around in the kitchen, and the rattle of pans covered the sound of his steps as he made his way to the back of the house. "I want to talk to you, Melody," Scott announced as he briskly entered the kitchen.

Melody was dropping a hunk of beef in a frying pan on the stovetop, but at the sound of Scott's voice she jumped and swung around, her hair flying about her face. She cried out a warning, but her eyes went past Scott's figure to look at something behind him, and as he turned to see what she was gaping at, the skillet was knocked to the floor with a clatter.

Its contents spilled across the floor, and the noise distracted Scott for a moment. He caught sight of a man right behind him, and a rifle that was raised to point directly at his chest. Scott jumped back to take advantage of the cover the door afforded. His hand went to his gun, but the man countered Scott's move and stepped forward menacingly, the barrel of his rifle never wavering as he shouted, "Alto!"


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7 - THE DESPERADO

In a fraction of a second Scott took in the stranger's disheveled appearance: the bandolier of bullets slung across his broad chest; the long, black hair and scruffy beard that partially obscured his face. Even without the gun held at the ready, the wild look in the man's eyes would have been alarming.

Scott slowly removed his fingers from the grip of his revolver and raised his hands a little. He readied himself to leap out of the way should the stranger's finger pull back on his weapon's trigger. The odds might be stacked against him, but even so, he wasn't about to be shot to death in Melody's kitchen by some south-of-the-border desperado . . . not if he could help it. "Get back, Melody," Scott warned tautly without looking at her. "Run!"

Astoundingly, Melody didn't run, but instead she rushed forward and cried out, "No!" She placed herself between the two men, with arms outstretched, fingertips touching each man's chest. She implored, "I told you to go, Scott! Now I ask you, I plead with you, to just leave. Go and don't cause any trouble."

Scott didn't take his eyes off the man, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Melody's wide-eyed look of alarm as she made her anxious entreaty. He glanced down at the rifle's barrel, only inches from his chest, then glared at the intruder. "Get that gun off me," Scott ordered. "Who the hell are you to raise a weapon in this house?" Slowly he took hold of Melody's hand and pulled her away, out of the line of fire.

Even as she obeyed Scott, Melody spoke harshly to the man in Spanish, and whatever she said must have hit home because his dark eyes flickered, and for a moment he seemed unsure. The rifle's deadly barrel was slowly lowered, but the man kept it at the ready as he retorted angrily to Scott, "And what the hell are you doing in my house - with my woman?"

It took a moment for Scott to recognize who the man with the rifle was, and another for the significance of his identity to sink in. "Fernando!" Scott cried out in shock.

"Yes, I'm Fernando Mendoza." the Mexican acknowledged. "And this is my house." Wariness marked the man's features as he cradled his gun in his arms. "And that is my wife."

Scott looked Fernando up and down, striving to maintain his composure despite the turmoil that was going on inside him. A cold feeling coursed through his body; his stomach felt as if it had received a physical blow, but he was damned if he'd show his apprehension. Still holding onto Melody, Scott took a couple of steps back and forced her to retreat alongside him. "You want to tell me what's going on?" he asked her in a low tone.

"Scott," she implored, shaking. "I didn't know, I didn't know! Fernando was here when I came down a short while ago. I only just had a chance to tell him about my Dad and brothers dying. He wanted . . . he was hungry. . ." With wide eyes she stared at Scott, and her hand rose to cover her mouth. "Oh my God, my God, what have we done?"

Fernando looked from his distraught wife to Scott, taking in the emotions that played across their features. "Someone had better start talkin'," he commanded between clenched teeth. "Melody? What's Lancer doing here?"

Melody cast a devastated look at her husband, then turned to Scott for help. "I can't," she whispered. "Please, you tell him."

Scott said, with more composure than he felt, "Let's sit down somewhere and sort this out. Fernando, there have been some changes, and you. . . well, we all thought you were dead." If he'd expected Fernando to act contrite for letting everyone believe he was dead, he was doomed to be disappointed.

Fernando made a sound that was not quite a laugh. "Dead?" He scoffed, "I'm not dead, as you can see." He raked his eyes up and down Scott's frame as if weighing him up and finding him lacking. "I remember you, Scott Lancer. You were my friend, but looks like you have taken advantage of my absence." With his eyes fixed upon Scott, Fernando held out a hand to Melody and beckoned her back to his side.

Melody took a reluctant step towards her husband, but Scott seized her hand. "Melody," he said, "You'd best come with me."

Fernando spat, "She isn't going anywhere with you! How long have you been coveting my wife? Well, I'm back, so you get off my land!" He started to raise the rifle in a threatening gesture, but Melody jumped in and forced the barrel to point at the floor.

"No, Fernando, it's not like you think," she cried. "Mr. Lancer and his family have been helping me get the ranch back on its feet. You don't know how hard it's been for me, finding my brothers gone and Dad dying . . . And you were dead! Dead!" She let out a sob but raised her hands to her mouth, stifling any more sound. Scott made a move to touch her, but she shrugged him off and stood aloof, the sole connection between the two hostile men.

"I couldn't get back to California any sooner," Fernando explained. "I told you everything would be all right. I always take care of you." He asked entreatingly. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

Scott read the sincerity in Fernando's face, but felt that made him no less a loose cannon. It was obvious they weren't about to sit down and discuss the situation like civilized people. His main concern was to disarm the man, to diffuse the situation somehow. My God, Scott thought, what did I get myself into? But then a glance Melody's way reminded him why he was there and reinforced his desire to fight for her, no matter what.

When Melody didn't reply, Fernando turned to laying blame. "You should have waited for me. You never believed in me, did you? Your old man made sure of that with his insinuations. You never stood up to him!"

Melody lowered her hands from her face. "Oh, Fernando," she said, "Don't come here and cast the blame on me when you left me all on my own."

Scott asked caustically, "What were you doing, then, Mendoza, that you couldn't take care of your wife? You abandoned her," he charged.

Barely allowing a glance towards the man questioning him, Fernando shrugged. "A man has things he has to do sometimes. What business is it of yours?"

"It concerns me more than you know," Scott said, his voice raised in anger. "I've been . . .my family's been taking care of Melody ever since her father died. What kind of man would leave a woman like this alone in Mexico, to fend for herself?"

"If you have to know, I had some trouble and . . .I was hurt bad," Fernando explained begrudgingly. He touched his ribs with his palm. "It took me time to recover and I didn't know where my wife had gone. As soon as I found out she returned here, I came as fast as I could." He sent a beseeching look towards his wife. "You're my life, Melody. I'd never put you in danger. You know that."

"Nando, you live for danger," she accused. "You deserted me, and those men. . . the Comancheros, they said you were dead. I didn't belong there without you so I came home. Do you have any idea what I went through?"

"I was hurt, my cousins were killed." He closed his eyes for a moment and ran a hand over his bearded jaw at the memory. "I had to lay low and let them believe I was dead. It was the only way." He glanced over at Scott then said to her, "I can't explain it in front of him. Melody, you're acting like you'd rather I be dead in my grave! Muerto!"

"Of course not, Nando. I'd never wish that. It's only . . . this is a shock!" She shook her head in disbelief. "You should have told me, got word to me - somehow."

Fernando wasn't telling the whole story, Scott was sure, but his main concern was to get Melody back to Lancer with him, as they'd originally planned. "Melody, you come with me-."

"Lancer," Fernando cut in, "I insist you leave now. She's not going anywhere with you. My wife and I have things to discuss." He reached out and took possession of Melody's arm, causing her to wince.

"I beg to differ," said Scott fervently. "She's my wife!"

"Your wife?" Fernando shouted. He pulled Melody close even though she struggled against his rough treatment. "Your wife? Since when do you call her. . ?"

Scott barely refrained from drawing his gun against the man. He met Fernando's fiery eyes with a matching glare. "She isn't your wife any more, Mendoza!"

"You touched my woman? I'll kill you for that-"

Melody interrupted, "Both of you, stop it! I am my own person. I can make up my own mind!" She threw off Fernando's hand and backed away from him. "I can't stand this, both of you fighting!"

"We were married," Scott said, enunciating every word, not caring if he was inciting the man to anger. "Married yesterday, all legal," he added, his words heavy with meaning, "She's Mrs. Lancer now, and she's going to stay Mrs. Lancer."

His face dark with anger, Fernando retorted, "You arrogant gringo! You Lancers think you can make your own rules and everyone will bow and scrape before you. Yes, I remember you very well."

Scott shook his head. "No, you don't remember me. And you're not the same man I used to know. That man was killed in Mexico. As far as Melody goes, I'll make sure your marriage gets annulled. I'll use the law to cut you off, and for now she's coming to Lancer with me."

"Lancer law," Fernando snapped back. He looked at Melody with narrowed eyes. "How could you even think of marrying another man?"

"We never intended it," Melody explained, "but when we were over in Flat Bend, we were wed by a judge there. It just sort of happened-" She must have realized that nothing she could say would help the situation, but she made an attempt to calm her husband. "Nando, it never would have occurred to me if you'd been here, alive."

"But the fact of the matter," Scott persisted, "is we are married, according to the law."

"You say you're married? Well, then, there's an easy remedy for that! I'll make her your widow," Fernando said with a sneer. "That'll settle it. You're not even worth a bullet, Lancer!" With brutal speed, Mendoza rammed Scott in the chest with the butt of his rifle.

The blow was hard enough to force Scott back several steps, grunting, but he recovered quickly, countered the move and kicked out hard. Fernando struggled to raise the barrel of his rifle in order to get off a shot, but Scott soon got the advantage in their hand-to-hand fight. Even as the opponents grappled, Scott delivered a hard punch to Fernando's ribs, right where he'd indicated he'd been wounded. Fernando fell, rifle still in his grip, but Scott struck him hard between the eyes with his fist and sent him all the way to the floor in an ungainly heap. Scott had never even had a chance to draw his six-gun.

Melody gasped in shock and sank beside the unconscious man, crying out his name, but Scott leaned over her and quickly disarmed the man. He recovered the rifle as well as a revolver, then ejected the bullets and tossed the weapons away. Scott pulled Melody to her feet and quickly forced her out the door, despite her protests. "Let's get out before he comes to. It isn't safe for you here, Melody!" He marched her to the buggy and pushed her onto the seat.

She looked back at the house imploringly, but didn't make any attempt to get out of the buggy. "Scott . . ."

"We're leaving. We can sort this out once we're at Lancer." There was no sign of the foreman of the S-Bar-M, but smoke coming from the chimney of the bunkhouse told him the men were cooking their dinner. He doubted they were even aware that Fernando Mendoza, who was in effect their boss, had returned from the dead. "I'll send somebody back," he said, thinking they'd better be well armed.

Scott slapped the reins, surprising the horse into a jerky trot. A quick glance back assured him that they weren't being pursued, but even so, all the way out of the yard he expected Melody's angry husband to come bursting out of the hacienda.

"But Scott, he's my husband," she entreated. "I can't just leave him."

Scott stared at her. "You can't seriously be thinking that man is worthy of you, Melody. He's dangerous, and from the looks of him, still on the run from the law. I'll send for the sheriff as soon as we get back to Lancer."

Melody's face paled. Her hand went to grasp Scott's arm. "Please, Scott, don't do that. I'll stay with you as your wife if you keep quiet about Fernando being here."

"You think you can bargain with me over your late husband?"

"Fernando's not dead!"

"I can make him dead," Scott replied before he even thought of what he was saying. Melody cried out, and covered her face with her hands, but when she raised her tear-filled eyes to his, Scott relented. "I didn't mean that. I didn't, really. It's just that I wanted, so much, for us to be happy, and with Fernando reappearing . . . I don't know what I'm saying, Melody. I just need to think."

For most of the drive back to Lancer, Scott remained silent, his mind working over the alternative actions he could, or should take. Melody didn't speak, but the look on her face spoke volumes. Scott felt a mixture of guilt and anger about the situation that had been forced upon them, and found Mendoza entirely to blame. Eventually Scott said firmly, "Fernando's a danger to you, Ma'am, and keeping some distance between him and us seems the most prudent thing at this moment. Lancer's a safe haven for you."

"He wouldn't hurt me, Sir," she snapped, using the same kind of formality. She rubbed her arm where Fernando had held her, as if it pained her.

Scott glanced at his own bruised knuckles and said dryly, "Well, he certainly didn't act in a peaceful manner, did he?"

"This is coming from the man who hit my husband in his own home?" She crossed her arms and took a deep breath. "Fernando was only trying to protect me."

Scott wanted to insist that he was her husband now, not the volatile man they'd left unconscious back at her ranch. He wanted to hold her in his arms and declare that he was her husband, that he'd take care of her, that they'd live happily together at Lancer for the rest of their lives . . . But despite his resentment that Melody had accepted her first husband's return without giving any thought to his position in all of this, Scott bit his tongue.

By the time the buggy drew up at the front door to Lancer, Scott was overwhelmed with concern, and even fear, that now that his true love's husband had returned from the dead, she would find no place in her life for him.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8 - THE DARK OF NIGHT

Even though he knew it was inevitable, Scott was reluctant to explain Melody's situation to his family, so when they walked in the front and saw the doors to the great room were closed he was relieved. Maria greeted them, then confirmed that a room upstairs had been prepared for Señora Mendoza. "Señor Lancer, he is with an important guest, and not to be disturbed, he says to me. Miss Teresa is not returned yet. Johnny took her to Morro Coyo but they will come soon." She ushered Melody up the main staircase and indicated the bedroom she was to occupy, then left them alone.

Scott stopped on the threshold, Melody's bags in his hands. He stood still and just watched her move around the large room. Her fingers trailed over some of the furniture, touching an ornament here, a book there. She commented, "Very pretty. You may enter, you know." She nodded at the bags in his hands and said, as she removed her shawl, "Unless you'd prefer me to leave. This could be awkward when my husband's return becomes known."

Scott closed the door, then placed the bags near the bed. He sought her eyes, but she didn't look up. "I hope you don't mind me closing the door," he said, "but there are some things I want to say and I don't think we need anyone to overhear us."

Melody took a seat on one of two small armless chairs and ran her hands over the skirt of her dress. Even though she languidly waved at the other chair, as if she didn't care at all, Scott could see that she was very angry. He noticed she was wearing the brocade dress that Teresa had admired. It fit her well, the bodice hugging her slim waist and accentuating her full bosom, with the voluminous skirt flowing away from her body in an elegant sweep. She discovered him staring at her, but she quickly looked away, her face set.

Scott took the other small chair and sat only a couple of feet from her. He leaned forward, fiddling with his watch for a minute. It was only eight o'clock. He'd gone to fetch Melody around five, but it now seemed an eon ago. He returned the timepiece to his pocket, then took a breath. "I have to apologize-."

"Yes, you do," was her quick reply.

He glanced up sharply, but continued, speaking evenly, "I'm sorry I resorted to violence, but he did hit me first." As he spoke, Scott touched his chest where Mendoza had struck him with the rifle butt. It was very sore and hurt when he breathed. As he shifted on his seat, he glanced up and caught Melody's expression. She'd seen him wince, and when he realized she was trying to hide her concern for him his heart leaped. So she still cared for him, he thought. "I need to ask you something, and it doesn't need an answer right away, although it would save me considerable worry." She was looking right at him now, apprehension written all over her face. Scott plowed right in. "Melody, would you consider a life with me, here on Lancer? Now, before you say anything, let me state my case. I love you with everything I've got. I'll do anything for you. I'm sure that you feel the same for me, and if Fernando hadn't returned, we'd be planning a church wedding right now, wouldn't we?" He took a deep breath. "I want you to obtain a decree of divorce from your husband. You could do so on the grounds of desertion, for starters."

Melody clasped her hands together and shook her head. She whispered, "Oh Scott, I can't-."

"I know it's difficult, with the Church's attitude, but we can try for an annulment-." He reached out to touch her, but she sprang to her feet and turned away from him. In an instant he was standing at her side. "Melody, please understand, I can't. . . I don't want to live without you-."

She turned and raised her blue eyes to his gray ones. Hers were filled with unshed tears, but she said harshly, "Well, you're just going to have to live without me, aren't you? There's no way around it. You dragged me out of my own house, never even asking me what I wanted, Scott Lancer. How do you think I felt, seeing you and Fernando fighting like that?" Her voice rose in anger. "He's back there, probably still lying unconscious on my kitchen floor. I shouldn't have left him. I was never in any danger from him, not really," she said defensively. "Not in my own home, anyway. I walked out on my husband, so what does that make me? And here you are, telling me that you can get me a divorce? Did you ever ask me what I want?"

"Then what do you want, Melody? Just tell me and I'll do my damndest to make it work." Scott attempted to hold her, but she shrugged him off.

"I want to go home." Her tone left no room for negotiation. "I want to do what's right."

"I see," he said, defeated. There was a sudden gust of wind through the open window, sending the curtains dancing wildly. Scott moved to close and latch them. "Looks like a storm is brewing." He took a minute to think about Melody's request then said, "I'll take you tomorrow morning, first thing. Will that be acceptable?"

With a curt nod, she agreed, then moved to the dressing table and started to brush her hair, effectively dismissing Scott.

~•~

Teresa popped her head into the guest room and asked, "Melody? Are you sure you don't want any supper?" She pushed the door open with her elbow and took a cautious step inside. "I'll tell you what. I'll just put this tray down on the bureau. You might feel like a bite later on."

Melody worked up a smile of gratitude. "Thank you. I'm not very hungry right now."

"If you want anything at all . . ." Teresa offered. "Scott's room is right next door. He's still down talking to Murdoch but he'll be up soon. If anyone can work things out, it's Scott."

"I wish it were that simple." Melody turned to the mirror and brushed her hair. Her red-gold curls were in disarray from the day's experiences and had become even more tangled on the buggy ride. "I didn't have time to put my bonnet on," she explained.

"You look lovely," Teresa assured her. "I'm sure the Lancers will figure something out. I know Scott is talking about going to Sacramento to talk to a judge up there who's an old friend of Mr. Lancer. I'm not quite sure what's going on, and I don't want to pry, but I do know that Scott loves you very much."

Melody bowed her head and her hair obscured her face from Teresa's view. How dare he pursue the notion that she would divorce her husband? She had told him she wouldn't consider it. But Scott did care deeply for her, that much she knew. "I know how Scott feels," she said in a small voice. When they'd talked earlier, she'd wanted very badly for Scott to take her in his arms. He'd stood so close to her that she had felt his body heat, but she'd rejected him, causing him to turn on his heel and leave her alone. She had not wept, even though she had felt like doing so. She loved him with all her heart, but there was nothing she could do about it now that Nando had returned.

Teresa said, "Scott is a lucky man to have you, too. I've put a nightdress on the chair and there's hot water in the basin. Towels are here." Glancing over her shoulder towards the doorway, she added, "I'd stay but we have a guest downstairs and I have to put on the coffee. The marshal's come all the way from Mexico and he'll be wanting a bed for the night," she sighed.

Melody turned in alarm. "The marshal?"

"Nothing for us to be concerned about," Teresa reassured. "He's on the trail of some Comanchero he says left a path of dead bodies all the way from the border to here." She shuddered. "We'll be safe, don't you worry."

~•~

Scott stood on the verandah and shouted, "What do you mean she's gone?"

"Don't yell at me," said Johnny. "I just found out." He indicated the corral. "Frank came and told me some woman just mounted up and rode off in a big hurry, and your fiancée is the only woman I know who'd gallop away in the dark of night, brother."

Scott rushed back into the house through the front door, but stopped short at the sight of the marshal, deep in discussion with Murdoch in the great room. The men hadn't seen him; their heads were together as they studied a map spread over the mahogany desk. Scott walked slowly down the two steps into the large room and casually removed his gun belt from the coat tree.

Just as Scott thought he'd escaped undetected, Murdoch's voice boomed out, "Going somewhere, son?"

Scott turned back to face Murdoch, who hadn't moved from his desk. He cleared his throat and replied, "Just taking a ride, sir."

Murdoch cocked his head a little and Scott knew his father was about to ask him for more information, but the marshal, who didn't look up from the map, spoke and distracted him. "Is this the trail you was talkin' about?" the marshal asked. "If he knows I'm on his scent he's gonna hole up somewhere before he heads back to the border, that's my guess."

"Yes," Murdoch replied. "It runs off the Portrero. It's steep, but leads up to an abandoned mining camp. It's on the edge of our property. There are still some buildings standing. He could be heading up there."

Scott retreated to the foyer and out the front door, but he glanced back at the two men. His father was staring after him, although he didn't budge. It only took a few minutes for Scott to saddle Victory, pack extra ammo in the saddlebag, and be on his way. As he cantered up the drive in the dark, Johnny appeared on Barranca, riding across the pasture to intercept him.

"You didn't think you were goin' to go alone, did ya?" Johnny grinned and urged his horse to match the stride of Scott's animal.

"I didn't ask for company," Scott said curtly.

"Since when do you need to ask?"

"I think Murdoch knows something is up," Scott warned.

"Who do you think I told we were goin' out on a moonlight ride after your runaway bride?" Johnny retorted.

Scott pulled his horse up. "This is serious, Johnny. You don't know the full story-."

"Well, let me give it a try. How about: Your woman was married to a Comanchero who has a federal marshal on his trail, and we're gonna stop her from warning him?"

Scott stared at his brother as he rode next to him. He was just another dark shape, a little darker than the rest of the night-filled objects, but Scott felt he could see Johnny's expression as if it was midday. He asked, "How did you know?"

"That he's alive, you mean?" Johnny let out a laugh. "I went over to your lady's ranch earlier today. Señora Cipriano asked me to drop off some food for Roberto. I saw a horse hobbled back a-ways in the scrub when I was leaving. There was something about it that bothered me, but I figured it was just one of the cowhands takin' a siesta. Then when the marshal came calling at Lancer, my brain caught up and it hit me: the saddle blanket was Comanche-woven. They don't trade their handmade goods with any outsiders, except with the Comancheros. I made a wild guess that it was Mendoza."

"Not so wild. I had a little encounter with the man back at Melody's ranch earlier this evening. That's why I brought Melody here – for her own protection."

Johnny nodded. "And you lived to tell about it? Your fighting skills must be improving," he joked. Scott spurred his horse, but Johnny met his speed, asking persistently, "You want to tell me how Fernando Mendoza managed to rise from bein' dead?"

Scott raised his voice to be heard as they rode along. "Fernando said he was in some kind of skirmish, was left for dead and took time to recover. His own men, the Comancheros, told Melody he was dead. So why didn't he send her a message he was still alive? Something's not right there."

"You think," Johnny asked, "maybe Mendoza double-crossed them and he's the one got a Comanchero on his tail? Maybe the marshal is tracking this someone else."

What Johnny was surmising made sense, and alarm raised the hairs on the back of Scott's neck. "Melody's going to warn Fernando, but she could get caught in the crossfire!" The Lancer brothers whipped their horses to greater speed and they rode at a breakneck pace towards the S-Bar-M in the darkness of the night.

~•~

The sole light that illuminated the kitchen showed that everything was just as Scott had left it only a few hours earlier, except for one thing: Fernando Mendoza was no longer lying on the floor.

As Scott headed out the front door, Johnny hurried from the barn to join him. Out of breath, Johnny reported, "The mare she took from Lancer is in the corral. Talked to men in bunkhouse. . . they say she rode out with a man." He pointed west. "That way. They could be circlin' around in case they're pursued."

Scott hit one of the verandah's pillars with his open hand. "I never thought. . .never thought she'd go with him! Damn! I should have-."

With a hand on his brother's arm, Johnny said in a low voice, "Only one thing to do. We get her back."

Scott didn't move, just surveyed the dark yard then turned to look at the inky-black mountains on the horizon. "No telling which way they went. She could have warned him," he said bitterly between clenched teeth, "and still remained here. No, she made her choice."

Johnny took a step back. "Sounds like you've made your choice, too, brother. I guess I thought you were in love with the widow. I thought you had the balls to go after her. Ain't often I'm wrong."

Furious, Scott launched himself at his brother and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. He drove Johnny back until he hit one of the massive pillars, hard enough to force a grunt out of him. "I love her," Scott cried, his anger cutting into every word. "I've loved that woman since the first day I met her so don't you say otherwise, Johnny! I've spent every waking moment and some sleeping ones, too, planning our life together, picturing how we'd grow old together. But all it took was one look, one look from that Mendoza to erase all of our feelings right out of her heart! One look and I was nothing! Nothing! Don't you understand?"

Johnny didn't move to counter the assault. He raised his hands slightly and met Scott's glare with his own steady gaze.

Scott stared down at his fist clenching Johnny's shirt, then took in a ragged breath as if he was waking from a bad dream. He let go and moved away, running his hands through his hair.

"I do understand," Johnny said with a touch of sympathy. He smoothed his shirtfront and sauntered over to Barranca. Once mounted, he straightened his hat then leaned one elbow on the pommel. "You ready to go home?"

For a minute, Scott acted as if he hadn't heard Johnny, then he picked up his horse's reins and mounted effortlessly. He leaned over to pat Victory's neck, but made no move to turn the animal homeward.

Johnny waited patiently and a minute later Scott straightened in the saddle, his features set. "I overheard the marshal telling Murdoch," he said evenly, "that the Comanchero he was after was probably heading up the Portrero trail."

Johnny looked in that direction. "Hmph. He's heading west, like the ranch hand said, then?"

"No. It's a steep climb and even if a man holed up in the old mining camp, what's the point? There're more hills beyond it and desert behind that. Mendoza grew up here; he'd never go that way."

"You think along the Garzas?"

"I'd bet money on it. Moon will be out soon."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

Scott urged his horse forward and Johnny followed suit.

~•~

It was like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack, but sometime around midnight, totally by chance, the Lancer brothers finally caught sight of Fernando and Melody Mendoza on the Garzas trail.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9 - REFUGE

Johnny and Scott stopped to take a breather when they reached a high point along the Garzas Creek trail. The moon they'd expected never had a chance to shine, due to thickening clouds from a fast-approaching storm. They'd only been riding a short time when they heard the low rumble of thunder. When they paused to don their slickers, lightning crackled and the whole valley lit up for a second. Another flash of light confirmed what Scott thought he'd seen a minute before; only a short way further on were two riders heading up the trail.

Scott rode in pursuit, risking breaking his horse's legs and his own neck with the reckless speed. He could hear Johnny's horse close behind, hooves clattering on the rocky path, but he focused on the couple that was only a few minutes ahead. Thunder rumbled, and then torrential rain was released, soaking both riders and their horses immediately. Visibility was reduced to next to nothing and they were forced to slow their pace.

The brothers picked their way along the trail that followed Garzas Creek, though from the sound of the rushing water it was more like a river soon to overflow its banks. Luckily the path rose at that point and left the creek bed to follow higher ground.

A stand of oaks just below the ridge offered some shelter so Scott pulled his horse in under the dense foliage,and waited for Johnny to join him. "They should be riding over that crest ahead any moment," he said when Johnny pulled up next to him.

Johnny leaned close as he could to Scott and raised his voice to be heard over the pounding rain. "You think Mendoza's gonna shoot us on sight?"

"He might," Scott responded. "He may mistake us for the marshal on his tail." Or for the other Comanchero who was somewhere out here as well, he thought. Scott just hoped the man had taken shelter somewhere and they'd never cross his path. At this point he didn't even want to know why a Comanchero was pursuing Mendoza. All he cared about was getting Melody back. There would be plenty of time later on to sort everything out.

He pulled the brim of his hat lower, wishing the rain would let up. Even as the deluge helped them by covering the sound of their pursuit, it also proved to be dangerous. If Mendoza discovered they were on his back, he could easily wait until they passed by and strike out at them from behind.

Scott believed that Melody had only intended to warn her husband about the lawman on his trail. Husband, he thought bitterly. He couldn't bear thinking of Mendoza as Melody's husband. Even the word "husband" irked him. Scott fumed that Mendoza had put Melody in grave danger by taking her along, since he must have known that both the marshal and the other Comanchero were pursuing him.

Although Scott begrudgingly admired her gumption in riding into danger, he was sure that Melody would never go willingly with her husband all the way back to Mexico. The man must have forced her. All Scott wanted to do now was to catch up to them and take her back.

As if reading his thoughts, Johnny said, "That girl's got some grit, taking the high road with that Comanchero." Barranca edged further under the spreading branches of the tree in order to get some relief from the rain. Johnny offered, "You want me to shoot him down for you? Be happy to."

"If we catch him, I'm willing to bargain he'll leave Melody behind in exchange for his freedom," Scott replied tersely. "I'm also hoping the marshal doesn't show up to interfere. We don't want to risk any gunfire." He pulled his collar up a bit more as they waited in the pouring rain for another bolt of lightning to illuminate the scene. When it did, Scott couldn't see any sign of the two riders topping the crest of the hill. He turned in the saddle to talk to Johnny, and at that moment another flash of lightning was unleashed. In the second of radiance, Scott saw a man on horseback fifty yards behind Johnny, raising a rifle. Just as Scott threw himself at his brother there was a muzzle flash and the report of gunfire.

Together the brothers hurtled from their horses, hitting the sodden ground with a crash. Scott fell on top of Johnny and felt his brother's ribs bend under the violence of his weight. Johnny wheezed as he struggled to regain some of the air knocked out of him.

Their horses whinnied in fright and backed away but Scott made no attempt to retrieve them. "Stay down, Johnny," he ordered urgently. Clambering over Johnny, then half-dragging him towards the cover of some low rocks and brush, Scott pulled out his revolver. He let off a shot in the direction of their assailant and prayed that Melody was somewhere safely out of the way.

They stayed low and waited, straining to hear anything that would indicate the shooter was approaching, but nothing moved in the darkness. The rainfall suddenly stopped, leaving behind a damp chill in the air and the sound of water dripping off the trees. The inky black that had accompanied the storm receded with the clouds and within minutes the moon peaked through the gloom, offering a faint amount of light. Scott realized his brother had barely moved since they'd taken cover. He could just about make out Johnny's dark shape huddled near the boulder, only a few feet away. He caught a slight glint of moonlight reflecting off his drawn revolver. "You all right, Johnny?" Scott hissed.

Johnny retched and coughed as he shifted his body. "Nope," he grunted. He leaned one shoulder on the boulder and cautiously peered over it, but was rewarded with a shot so close it sent shards of rock showering over him as it ricocheted away. He clutched his ribs and gasped, "It's dark as hell! How can he even see us? I sure hope that was dumb luck on his part."

"Just don't make any wild shots," warned Scott.

"Looks like your Mendoza's not gonna give her up easy."

Scott crawled on his belly to the edge of their protective boulder and peered in the direction of the shooter. The trees and rocks combined in a mass of darkness. He couldn't see anything that could be identified as a man or horse, so he patiently waited for any sign to indicate Mendoza's location. It came sooner than he expected. There was a slight scrape of metal against metal and he caught a glimpse of movement behind a tree not fifty feet away. Scott made a hand motion to indicate the location of the man to Johnny, then chanced shooting a couple of bullets in the direction of their attacker.

The gunman left his cover and proceeded towards the Lancers, firing his rifle steadily. Johnny used the rocky surface to steady his arm and took careful aim. His first bullet went astray but the second found its mark; the man staggered, but kept on coming.

Scott fired until his gun was empty, and even though he was sure he'd made at least one hit, the figure, looming darker than the blackness of their surroundings, still advanced, relentlessly shooting his carbine from the hip.

Johnny carefully aimed at Mendoza and scored a hit. Seeing that Scott was out of ammo and had no time to reload, Johnny grabbed his spare gun from his boot, called out and tossed it in Scott's direction. As Johnny let off a shot and ducked back down, one of the slugs from Mendoza's rifle found its mark and ploughed deep into his shoulder. The force of the bullet spun him around and he fell hard. Even as he bit down on a cry of pain, he twisted and managed to get to his knees. The revolver was insurmountably heavy in his hand, but he raised it to take another shot at the advancing Comanchero. The recoil from his gun rendered his arm numb and to his horror his gun fell from unfeeling fingers.

Scott made a dive for the revolver Johnny had thrown his way, then pivoted and got off a shot, but the gunman was much closer than he'd expected and he missed. There came a moment when Scott saw death and knew there was nothing he could do about it; all he could think was that this was wrong, that this wasn't how it was meant to be.

The two guns roared simultaneously in a blinding flash of light. A woman - Melody - screamed, something slammed into Scott Lancer's head, and his world went black.

~•~

Scott struggled to sit up. Someone was holding him down, and he fought the restraint until the voice became Johnny's and the words started to make sense.

"Take it easy! Take it easy, Scott. He's down. We're okay," Johnny said insistently. Then to someone else, he ordered, "Put some more wood on that fire."

It took some time for Scott to get his mind working, but eventually he realized he was lying on a crude bed in a ramshackle cabin. Johnny was getting him to drink something that tasted like hot water. "My head," Scott groaned.

Melody advanced from the shadows into the light of a fire in a stone fireplace. "The way you acted, chasing after us, it's a wonder you still have one," Melody retorted. Scott reached out to her and weakly called her name. She moved Johnny aside and said to him, "You rest up. I'll take care of him."

Johnny settled cautiously into a chair, one hand gripping his shoulder. There was a blanket wrapped around him, but it fell away to expose a torn flannel shirt wrapped around his upper arm and bare chest.

Scott lifted his head and instantly regretted it. With a hand raised to hold his aching skull, he asked with concern, "You got a bullet in you, Johnny?"

"Nah, it went right through and took out a chunk of meat. Your lady tied it up tighter than a widow's stays, as Jelly would say. We're lucky none of us were seriously hurt." He let out a short laugh as he pulled the blanket up again. "Well, one bullet did bounce right off your thick skull."

Scott felt like a spike was being driven into his skull. He touched what seemed to be a deep gash on his head. His scalp was sticky with blood, and it was very tender, but apart from being a bit foggy and weak, he counted himself fortunate to be alive. "What happened? Where are we?"

Johnny replied, "We're in the Garzas' line shack." He motioned to the small, dark and dank one-room cabin in which they were taking refuge. "Best room at the inn. The lady appeared outta the dark and helped get you in here, all safe. I been waitin' for you to wake up."

Someone had removed Scott's gun belt when he was unconscious and placed it at the end of his bed. Melody pushed the holster aside and carefully perched beside him on the sagging mattress. She pulled a big handkerchief from a pocket in her riding skirt, wet it in a cup of water, then gently dabbed at the wound on the top of Scott's head. "You shouldn't move around too much." She said with exasperation, "You probably have concussion."

Scott took in her damp clothing and the dark circles under her eyes. He anxiously asked, "But are you all right?"

Melody nodded and took hold of his hand. Her grip was firm and warm and she brought with her the faint scent of lilac perfume. "I'm so sorry," she said quietly, "but I had to warn Fernando. I didn't intend to leave with him, I really didn't, but at the last minute . . . well, I had to go with him." She looked nervously over her shoulder towards the door.

At the mention of Mendoza, Scott cast a look at his brother, but Johnny was resting his head against the back of the chair, his eyes closed and his face pale. The blanket around his shoulders had slipped again, exposing his bare torso and the rough bandage that was wrapped around his right shoulder, crimson with blood. Scott struggled to one elbow. "Johnny killed him?" he asked. When there was no response, he started to rise. "Johnny should be the one lying down, not me."

Johnny opened his eyes a sliver and raised a hand weakly. "No, I'm just resting my eyes so you'd leave me alone. Don't fret over me." He added, "I guess we're on our own since Murdoch and the lawman were heading over Potrero way."

"The rain's finally stopped so I'm going to go get you some help," Melody said. "It'll be light enough in an hour." She added sternly, "And you, Scott Lancer, you need to lie back down before you fall out of that bed. It ain't far to the floor, but you might break something." With a hand on his chest, she encouraged him to lie flat again.

Scott caught hold of her hand and held on. "Melody. . ." She appeared uncompromising, as if she was holding her emotions in check. He couldn't see any fear in her, or even distress. They could have been strangers. "Don't go, not yet," he entreated, desperate for some small sign that she still cared for him.

She looked at her hand captured in his, then leaned down and kissed him near his mouth, surprising him. "Everything will be fine," she said reassuringly.

"I'm sorry," Scott said. "Sorry about shooting him. For your sake." He gingerly rested his head, which felt like it was about to explode, on a small, lumpy pillow.

Melody looked at Scott quizzically and started to respond, but the door to the cabin was suddenly thrown open. A dark, bearded man in a slicker entered bearing a full load of kindling wood in his arms.

Startled, Scott scrambled to his feet. His head swam alarmingly and he had to grab Melody's shoulder to keep his balance. In one swift movement, he reached out to retrieve his gun belt from the foot of the bed and drew his six-gun. "Look out, it's Mendoza!" Scott cried.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10 - CABIN TALES

Scott couldn't believe that Fernando Mendoza was still alive and walking into the cabin as if he owned it.

Johnny rose to his feet almost as quickly as his brother, wincing. But far from being shocked by Mendoza's presence, Johnny seemed more concerned with preventing Scott from going for his gun.

Mendoza froze just a few feet inside the cabin, his eyes darting from one Lancer brother to the other, then to a rifle leaning against the hearth only a foot away. With both of his hands occupied by the firewood, he had no chance to go for his gun.

Johnny ordered, "No." With a hand on Scott's chest, he placed himself between his brother and the Melody's husband.

"Johnny, get out of my way," Scott said tersely. He pushed to get past Johnny, and attempted to get a clear line of fire, but Melody was in the way.

"Listen! It's not like you think, Scott," Johnny warned urgently, trying to get through to his brother.

Melody rushed to her husband's side, glancing back at Scott. "Don't shoot him!"

Scott wasn't sure if her command was aimed at him or if she was trying to hinder Mendoza. Nevertheless, he wasn't about to take any chances. "Melody, step away from him," he instructed brusquely.

With raised voice, Johnny said, "Mendoza's all right. The man who was shootin' at us out there was a Comanchero trailin' them." He nodded in the direction of Melody and her husband, standing close to each other near the fireplace. "I was right. Some hombre was after Mendoza."

Fernando Mendoza dropped the load of wood next to the fireplace and slowly straightened. He held his hands out, slightly away from his body, palms up. "I don't aim to fight you, Lancer," he said while keeping a cautious eye on Scott.

Melody looked swiftly from her husband to Scott and tentatively stepped forward. "He's not your enemy, Scott," she beseeched.

Scott reluctantly lowered his revolver. He didn't like the situation, but it was plain that Johnny saw no danger in Mendoza and that was enough for him. Scott was quiet for a moment then asked, "You want to explain what's been going on, Johnny?" He eyed Mendoza suspiciously. There was a dark bruise across the man's forehead from the fight they'd had earlier in the day, and his nose was swollen and discolored as well.

Johnny encouraged Scott to sit on the bed again, but he refused to budge. "He slipped up from behind," Johnny said, "and shot the Comanchero dead. Fernando's lucky neither of us was in any shape to shoot back at him. Would have been a mistake," he acknowledged. "Sit down, Scott." When his brother didn't move, but stood glaring at Mendoza, Johnny took hold of his upper arm and gave it a jerk to get his attention. "Scott!"

"I could have let him kill you," Mendoza pointed out. His tone suggested he regretted stepping between Scott and the Comanchero, even if he said it with a smile.

Dragging his eyes away from Fernando Mendoza, and from the sight of Melody standing too close by his side, Scott met his brother's eyes. The message in them was stern and clear.

Again Johnny said in a low voice, "Sit. If not for yourself, then for me, 'cause I can't stand up any longer." With that, Johnny's knees gave way and he sank into his chair, retaining his hold in his brother's forearm. He released it only when it was obvious that Scott was finally listening to him.

Scott slowly sat on the edge of the bed, only a couple of feet away, and said harshly to Johnny, "You look terrible."

Johnny laughed, then pulled a face and clutched at his wounded shoulder. There was no hiding that he was in considerable pain, and that the bandage wasn't entirely stemming the flow of his blood. Johnny swallowed then asked hoarsely, "Ma'am, if you could get us some cold water?"

Melody moved to the kitchen area; it was no more than a small pot-bellied stove, a battered metal sink and some poorly stocked shelves. There was a steaming kettle on the small pot-bellied stove and the remains of a plate of beans sat on a rickety table. She worked the handle of an old pump attached to the sink, but gave up after only a trickle came out. Pulling a canteen from a pile of gear dumped on the cabin floor, she poured water into a couple of tin cups. She handed them to the Lancer brothers and said flatly, "Nando went back to help you, Scott. He could have kept riding."

"You still haven't said why that Comanchero was chasing you down," Johnny said to Mendoza. When no reply appeared to be forthcoming, he added, "C'mon, that kind of man don't ride a few hundred miles just on some whim. He was out for blood."

When Mendoza finally spoke, he appeared grim. "I'll tell you this much, but it goes no further." He looked at the Lancers to make sure they agreed, and got a reluctant nod from Johnny but no acknowledgment from Scott. "That hombre, the man I killed back on the trail, he rode with Juan Paradine, the outlaw who ruled the Texas border towns for years. Paradine called himself a Comanchero, but he stole more than he traded. Even his own people hated him."

Johnny said knowingly, "The Federales have been after Paradine for years. They never got close, then all of sudden he turned up dead a short while ago." At Scott's look of query, Johnny replied, "Your newspapers ain't the only way to get news, you know."

Almost with disinterest, Scott asked Mendoza, "So some border thief who terrorized honest folk ends up dead and a member of his outlaw gang follows you all this way north? Let me guess," he said sarcastically, "that you had something to do with this Juan Paradine's untimely demise."

Fernando Mendoza faced Scott, with only a muscle at the corner of his eye twitching. "The Federales needed someone inside to take down Paradine for them. They chose me because I get the job done. I've been working with them for months. I never would have come back here if I hadn't needed to get my wife. We'll be out of here soon and won't ever be back. My people are down there, and they need someone to lead them. They're scared to stand up against the government, so they end up either in poverty or turning to crime. I know I can change things, with the backing of the Federales."

Scott saw a look pass over Melody's face, and although it was fleeting, it was plain that she hadn't heard any of this before, and that she was shaken by the news.

Johnny studied Mendoza for a minute then asked, "They caught you at some hanging offense, did they? And you turned on the Comancheros. You murdered this man, Paradine, to save your own skin." Fernando exhibited a stony face, but Johnny nodded, satisfied he'd struck the nail on the head.

Melody stood in the center of the three men. She watched her husband as they talked, but Scott found her expression hard to decipher. Fernando said something low to her about taking care of the horses and she stepped out into the dark with him, her arms crossed in the chill, pre-dawn air. They stood just outside the door, which was slightly ajar, and Scott could hear their voices but not their words. Johnny had his eyes closed but Scott was sure his brother was well aware of everything that was going on around him.

The discussion between the husband and wife became heated, then there was silence for several minutes. Scott sat with his eyes fixed on the door, wondering if she was all right with Mendoza. He was about to go to see if she needed any help when she returned alone, her features set in anger, slamming the door behind her.

Scott looked away. He stared into his cup and said nothing. He was bursting with warring emotions: concern over Johnny being wounded, seething hatred for Mendoza, resentment that Melody had ridden off in the company of her husband and was turning her back on her home and her friends. Scott wondered if the Comanchero would have caught up and exacted his revenge on Mendoza if he hadn't encountered the Lancers first and fired on them by mistake. Good riddance, he thought.

But Scott also sensed that he had already lost, not just Melody, but everything their future might have held. He couldn't picture building his own home now, nor having children around him as he worked the land. Gone was any hope of having a loving wife, enjoying evenings by the fire with her, engaging in squabbles, making love and growing old together.

He'd gone against her wishes when he'd asked Murdoch to help him secure a friendly judge, should she change her mind about divorce. He'd been a fool to think that he could eventually convince her to stay with him.

Melody came over to his side and hovered for a couple of minutes, so close her skirts brushed his knee. Scott refused to look up, but just as she turned to leave, he claimed her hand. "Melody," he started. This time her face was awash with unbearable sadness, and it hurt him to see his own pain reflected in her eyes. He asked in a whisper, "Is there any chance . . .?"

She closed her eyes and turned away, and he knew he'd lost her. Somewhere along the way, he'd slipped up. She had made the decision to remain with her husband, and there was nothing he could do about it. If there had been even the slightest chance, he'd have continued to pursue her, but now he knew there was none. But then Melody surprised Scott by returning to sit beside him on the bed.

It took her a few moments to speak, but eventually she brushed her hair back off her face and took a deep breath. "I know you won't ever forgive me for this, Scott, but I'm going with Fernando to Texas, and to Mexico if need be, solely because he is my husband. There's a saying in old Mexico: A man can't pick his relatives, but a woman can't pick her husband. He's going to get his name cleared and as his wife, I'll be with him. Soon I'm going to ride back to Lancer to tell your people you've been hurt and need help, then I'll meet Nando over at Sierra Rocks." She forestalled his protest with a shake of her head. "I wish things could have been different-."

"They still can be," Scott insisted. "There's a place for you here and there always will be, Melody. Your loyalty is misplaced. He admitted he murdered Paradine. It's just too dangerous. Who knows who may be gunning for him down there?"

"Paradine had a price on his head, Scott. I don't condone any of this, but Nando was sent by the Federales to do a job and in return they agreed to clear the charges in Texas. I know he wouldn't have killed that Texas man, I know it. They must have set him up to force him into killing Paradine."

"You don't really believe that, do you? You're going to get hurt, Melody." Scott spared a glance towards Johnny, hoping his brother would add something to dissuade Melody from such a foolhardy trip, but Johnny staggered to his feet and moved to a chair situated closer to the fire.

Melody's gaze followed Johnny, but she made no effort to help him despite his difficulty in walking even a few feet. "Nando says the Comanchero who shot at you was one of Paradine's men, acting on his own. Now he's dead, there is no danger. Those men back in Mexico, the Comancheros, well, I lived around them long enough to know that without a leader they have no direction. Paradine planned everything. He led them on raids across the border, organized bank and mine payroll robberies. He was a violent man who was hell on his gang. Those men were traders before he came along, for goodness sake. They've probably gone back to their villages by now and have gone back to trading. They won't mourn his passing, believe me."

"You don't belong with him," Scott insisted.

She gave a fleeting look at the one grimy window in the cabin. "Look, I have to ride back to Lancer. You both need medical attention and it'll soon be light enough for me to ride down the creek trail. Your folks can bring a wagon up the back road easy enough. The grade is less steep that way."

Scott knew Melody wasn't going to listen to him, but he faced her and took hold of her shoulders with both hands. "I'm going to ask you one last time, and this is from my heart, Melody. . . will you stay. . . and marry me?"

With her hair made golden from the glow of the fire, her fair skin and eyes the palest of blue, she looked as beautiful as Scott had ever seen her. He held his breath when her eyes met his, and for a moment his heart swelled at the sight of love in them. But any hope he clung to was dashed when her expression turned to regret, causing his chest to hurt with the blow of a terrible loss.

Melody rejected him with a curt shake of her head. She spoke in a whisper. "I wish. . ."

He waited with a patience he didn't know he possessed for her to finish, willing her with his eyes to change her mind, to find it in her heart and mind to choose him over the man who would surely destroy her. "You wish. . . ?" he asked.

She spoke with a fierceness in her voice he never expected to hear. "I wish I'd never met you, Scott Lancer," she hissed with her eyes blazing as she broke away.

Scott slumped back on the bed, his shoulders against the wall.

Johnny must have heard what she said because he turned in his chair to look at her intently, but he only asked, "How about making us some coffee? I'm cold."

Melody moved to the fireplace and picked up a battered kettle, then went to the door. Just outside was a rain barrel. After dipping the kettle in and filling it, she returned to put it on a hook over the flames. Scott watched her every move, but his heart had been broken.

Fernando entered abruptly, stood for a minute surveying the occupants of the cabin suspiciously, then announced he was going down the trail a-ways. "You're comin' with me," he ordered his wife. His tone told he would brook no refusal.

Johnny asked with disdain, "You leaving so soon?"

"Not yet," Fernando replied. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "We need the horse and some extra equipment." At Scott's look of revulsion, Fernando said defensively, "No point in waste. C'mon, we gotta do this fast, then get on our way." He took hold of Melody's arm and prompted her to put on her jacket. She looked back at Scott with a plea in her eyes, but her husband prodded her to leave the cabin ahead of him.

Scott slowly stood and donned his coat. He didn't feel like leaving the comfort of the cabin, but something told him that he should accompany Melody on the short trip down the trail. As he buckled up his gun belt, Johnny levered himself out of his chair by the fire and approached.

"Don't tell me you're going along with them," Johnny growled in a low voice.

Scott picked up his hat and adjusted it on his head. He winced when it brushed a sore spot, although the brim didn't touch his head wound. "If Mendoza comes back through that door without me, you shoot him."

Johnny shook his head and raised his good hand in surrender. "What I'd like to know is: why does everyone think _I'm_ the risk-taker in the family?"

Despite himself, Scott laughed a little. "Thanks, brother."

"Hey, Scott."

Scott turned back to look at Johnny, who had taken his seat again. He asked, "What?"

"She's probably right about those Comancheros, you know. After a man like Paradine dies there's a vacuum and if nobody takes up his position of power, the men'll just go back to their farms."

"I get the feeling that Fernando is thinking about filling that position. That's no place for Melody to be. Even if she doesn't want me, well, she could still stay right here, on her own ranch."

"It's her choice, brother, and there's nothing more we can do about it," Johnny replied with commiseration.

Scott said vehemently, "Well, I'm not giving up until the last minute when she rides out of sight over that hill."


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11 - THE DAPPLED GRAY

Surprisingly, Mendoza didn't turn a hair when Scott joined him and his wife out at the corral. They had already mounted but they waited for Scott.

He was thankful that Victory hadn't been unsaddled, although he knew the still damp saddle blanket must have been uncomfortable for the horse. He was much shakier than he had expected. It was one thing to be able to walk around the cabin and another to take a ride, no matter how short it was. But he'd committed himself to accompany them, for Melody's sake as well as for his own curiosity. He needed more than Mendoza's word as to the identity of the dead man.

Once he was settled in the saddle, Scott took a deep breath. He felt dizzy and the pain in his head was making him sick, but he motioned with his arm for Mendoza to proceed.

"You sure you're up to this?" Mendoza asked. Even Melody was eyeing him dubiously.

Scott replied curtly, "I need some air. Just lead the way." He figured their little trek wouldn't take long, especially as Mendoza would want to be on his way as soon as possible.

They started down the rocky trail, in the direction they'd come from only hours beforehand. The moon had waned and the milky gray dawn was upon them; the air was fresh and the scenery was striking. Scott had only been up this way once before, and he looked around to get his bearings. The cabin had originally been larger, but a section had succumbed to age and weather, and on its far side the barn was in ruins. It had been the headquarters of a small lumber camp and the foreman had lived here, he recalled Murdoch saying. The Lancers no longer milled their own lumber, and so it had been abandoned except for occasional use as a line camp.

Behind the cabin, which sat low among some pines and scrubby oaks, was a rocky escarpment that overshadowed it. There was a wagon trail that wound up past the cabin and disappeared over the rise. He remembered that from that point on it was mostly thicket and woods, all good cover for cattle or for a man on the run to hide in. The trail divided up there; a wagon road led east towards Morro Coyo and a track headed west towards the badlands.

Another wave of dizziness came over Scott just as his horse started to pick his own way down the trail, but he gripped the saddle horn until it passed. Below them was a sharp drop - tricky for the horses, but passable. He asked, "How'd you get us up to the cabin?"

Mendoza, who led the way, with his wife close behind him on her mare, called over his shoulder, "Easier to tie a man who's out cold to his saddle than a wounded one who's complaining." He laughed. "I knew about the cabin. Used to come up here along the Garzas to hunt when I was a boy. We lived over on towards Morro Coyo." He pointed to the east. "There was twelve of us kids, so Pa made whiskey on the side and we sold it to the men who worked up here."

Scott wondered what had become of all of those children. He'd always pictured Mendoza as being alone in the world until he married Melody. He didn't recall any relatives attending their wedding, but he just asked, "Do you mean you hunted deer or Lancer cattle?"

Mendoza gave a toothy grin. "Whatever moved was fair game. Still is, Lancer."

"But what about the S-Bar-M? Why don't you put down roots and work the ranch?" The last thing he wanted was to have Mendoza as a neighbor and all settled down with Melody, but the suggestion had slipped out. Besides, if it made her safe and happy, that would be enough for him. Or he'd pretend it was enough, Scott thought. "The ranch can prosper if it's worked properly."

Mendoza wasn't about to take any advice from Scott. He replied, "Don't you tell me how to work a ranch, Lancer. I broke my back on that ranch for old Archie Stewart. I jumped every time he said to jump. I even gave up my dreams to raise horses. There was no pleasing the old bastard, and I wouldn't have stuck around if it hadn't been for marryin' the boss's daughter." Mendoza glanced back at his wife for confirmation.

Scott couldn't see her face, but there was no mistaking the way her back stiffened at her husband's words. They rode down an incline and onto a grassy slope. Mendoza led the way towards a stand of trees, and Scott recognized it as the place they'd had the shootout the night before. A bit of patchy mist clung to the woods, giving it an eerie appearance in the gray dawn.

Melody leaned forward and asked something of her husband. Mendoza looked annoyed. "All right," he replied. "You wait here then."

Melody reined in her horse before they got any closer. She didn't meet Scott's eyes as he passed her, but he noted she was pale and distraught. He couldn't blame her for avoiding looking at the body of the man who had been killed. When he halted, Scott scanned the trail below. He could see quite a way, right down to the river, which appeared to be swollen over its banks from the rain. There were still some pockets of mist in the small valleys beyond, but he could see well enough to know there was no sign of anyone coming their way.

He hadn't really expected to see his father or a posse, but he had still held out a little bit of hope that they would come looking for him and Johnny. Although he felt confident that he could manage a ride down the back road to Morro Coyo, his brother was going to need medical attention soon, then a wagon to carry him home. The rain would have obliterated any sign, but Murdoch might deduce the direction they'd taken. On the other hand, the old man was probably enjoying a good, hot breakfast in the Lancer kitchen about now, wondering vaguely where his sons had spent the night. He wouldn't be alarmed until later in the day, if at all.

Within minutes they located the body of the dead Comanchero, sprawled face down in a shallow gully. Mendoza wasted no time. He dismounted and rifled through the pockets of the man for whatever prize he could find. Scott pulled up close and watched from on horseback. For a moment he envisioned himself pulling his revolver and killing Mendoza, but he shook off the image. Mendoza must have felt Scott's eyes boring a hole in his back, because he abruptly swiveled and looked back, his eyes narrowed, hand on his gun.

Scott put his hands up fast. "Take it easy! I'm just watching."

Mendoza raked his eyes over Scott and gave a cursory glance in the direction of his wife, then turned back to his task, unfazed.

Scott took in a few details of the sodden body of what appeared to be a middle-aged man: dark hair, broad shoulders, tall and lean. Wearing leather pants, wool jacket, and worn boots with fancy spurs. A black and gray serape was draped around his shoulders. Not a cowpoke, with all the ammunition he'd been carrying, that was for sure. There was evidence the Comanchero had been shot a couple of times in the body and also in the back of his head. Scott assumed that he and Johnny had inflicted a couple of those wounds, though not the one that had ultimately killed the man. Luckily, no animals had ravaged the deceased during the night.

Mendoza quickly removed the extra bandolier of ammunition from the man and slung it across his own shoulder. He rolled the body over, unbuckled the gun belt and pocketed the few articles he recovered, then stood back.

That was when Scott saw that the man's throat had been cut. Mendoza must have done the deed after shooting him from behind the night before. Caught between annoyance that both he and Johnny were beholden to Mendoza for saving them from this killer, and dislike for being the cause of any man's death, Scott found himself suddenly angry. He nudged his horse a step forward and demanded, "Was that necessary?"

For a moment Mendoza appeared nonplussed, but then he shrugged. "I don't know where you come from, but in my neck of the woods, if you shoot a man, you'd better make damn sure he's dead."

Scott looked back at Melody, but she wasn't close and she had turned her horse to face away from the men. He was glad she wasn't bearing witness to the ugly scene.

Mendoza covered the dead man's head with the waterlogged serape. "Where'd his horse get to? I'm going to need it."

Scott spotted the loose animal from his vantage point. It was standing patiently under a sheltering oak on the far side of the small woods. Wanting to hasten the proceedings and get back to the cabin, he rode over to retrieve the horse before Mendoza could even mount up.

Scott wanted nothing more than to be rid of Mendoza. By this point he was willing to help him escape just to be free of him, providing he didn't force Melody to go along. He considered taking him in to the law, but his first concern was making sure that neither Johnny nor Melody was harmed. Scott had been trying to think of something he could bargain with, in order to get Mendoza to allow Melody to remain, but he was sure that the man wouldn't listen to reason.

Meanwhile, Scott approached the stray horse, clicking his tongue to entice it. It was a rangy, dappled gray gelding, and a docile animal, so he had no trouble catching it. The saddle blanket, like that on Mendoza's horse, had a distinctive pattern, which Scott now knew was Comanche.

In the time it took Scott to get hold of the animal's reins and lead him back, Mendoza had mounted his horse. He took possession of the gray's reins without any thanks.

"Are you just going to leave your Comanchero friend like that?" asked Scott, indicating the dead man, left vulnerable to the elements and coyotes.

"I ain't got the time nor inclination to bury the hombre," Mendoza retorted. "Your people can deal with it when they come. Let's get a move on." He dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and started back up the trail to the cabin, leading the extra horse.

Infuriated, Scott followed. He couldn't take the time to cover the body with stones on his own, and certainly couldn't let Mendoza return alone to the cabin, where Johnny would be waiting. If Scott wasn't the first one in the door, Johnny would be true to his word and shoot at Mendoza. And despite his brother's denial, Scott knew he was in a vulnerable condition and could quite likely find himself on the wrong end of Mendoza's gun.

When Mendoza passed Melody, he expected her to follow him, but instead of turning to join the men, she held her horse in check. She stared with horror at the dappled gray horse as he was led by. Unaware of his wife's reluctance to join him, Mendoza continued on up the narrow trail.

Scott pulled back on his reins and looked back over his shoulder to see why she wasn't coming. Suddenly, Melody wheeled her horse and spurred it down the hill towards where they'd abandoned the body. Her husband saw the direction in which she was going and shouted at her to stop. She took no notice, but rode right up to the body, hauled back on the reins and dismounted quickly.

In amazement, Scott watched as Melody pulled the serape away from the dead man's face and screamed, "No! No, you killed Rio!"

~•~

Scott threw open the cabin door for Mendoza to carry his unconscious wife inside. Alarmed, Johnny stood at the ready, one hand on a chair for support and his other on his Colt. Scott could see his brother was barely able to stand and his grip on his gun was tenuous at best. Scott quickly informed him in a quiet voice, "She just fainted. You'll be next if you don't sit back down, Johnny."

Mendoza took Melody over to the bed and laid her down gently. She moaned and turned her face away.

As Scott fetched a canteen of water, Johnny asked, "What the hell went on out there?"

Scott shook his head slightly to indicate he'd tell Johnny about it later. He asked him, "You got any whiskey in your saddlebag?"

"Uh, yeah." Johnny pointed to his bag among the others on the floor near the fireplace as he sat in the hard chair again. He persisted, "Are you gonna tell me what's going on?"

Scott took the flask of whiskey and the canteen to Mendoza. After removing his hat, he stood hesitantly for a few minutes and watched the man minister to his wife, but then stepped away. He felt like he was intruding.

Johnny indicated that his brother should take a seat near him. "You need to warm up, Scott. You don't look too good. Your head's bleeding," he pointed out. He adjusted the blanket that was wrapped around him, held in place with a knot at his shoulder.

Scott took a bunched up rag to his head and dabbed at it. It hurt like hell when he touched it and the cloth came away bloody, but it wasn't enough to worry about. "It's nothing." He watched as Melody appeared to come out of her faint. He could see her legs move, but Mendoza's body blocked his view of her.

She said something in a low voice to her husband then turned away from him, towards the wall. Mendoza pulled a blanket over her shoulder and said, "I'll be back shortly. You be ready, Melody." He hovered over her still form indecisively, then headed for the door. He stopped only long enough to pick up his saddlebags and to threaten Scott, "You keep away from her."

Johnny grabbed his brother's arm when Scott rose to confront Mendoza, and only released him once the Comanchero had left the cabin. Scott turned angrily on Johnny, who slowly stood up to face him. "Johnny, you should have let me-."

"Let you get yourself killed? I don't think so. It isn't worth it."

Scott stared at his brother, then accused, "You mean _she_ isn't worth it. That's what you're getting at, isn't it?"

"Oh hell, no, Scott," Johnny replied, exasperated. "Mendoza's running out of time. It's going to be daylight soon. He's got to run, and no man wants to drag a reluctant woman after him. He's. . .he's. . ." Johnny's words petered out and his hand came up to grasp Scott's jacket. He blinked several times, but appeared to be unable to focus.

Alarmed, Scott called his name loudly. "Johnny? Johnny!"

Johnny's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward. Scott barely caught him, but managed to get his brother's slack body to the floor without allowing him to be harmed any further. He pulled back the blanket Johnny had wrapped around him to expose his bandaged shoulder. It was soaked with fresh blood. Grabbing for another canteen and then searching for something to use as an additional bandage, Scott didn't notice that Melody had come up behind him until she spoke.

"Here," she said, presenting him with a length of clean, white cloth.

He looked up at her, saw her concern for Johnny, and accepted the offering. He then realized it was a section of her petticoat.

Melody took Johnny's jacket and bundled it gently under his head for a pillow. "Better get that done before he comes to," she pointed out. "Here, I'll hold him up and you make a pad with it. I'm sorry we don't have anything more for him. I can make some tea to warm him when he's able to drink. Looks like there's some up on the shelf."

Scott worked silently, but once Johnny's bandage had been reinforced, there was little else they could do. His brother was pallid and still out cold, but he seemed to be breathing normally. "If he doesn't awaken in a few minutes," Scot said, "I'll need your help to get him over to the bed." Mendoza was likely to return at any moment, so Scott took what could be his last chance to talk to Melody alone. "Melody, if you don't want to go with your husband, I'll fight him off."

She immediately shook her head. "I don't want you to risk your life over this, Scott. Besides, I'm sure it'll be all right. All Nando wants is to get clean away before the law catches up with him. Can you blame him? I know he doesn't want to hurt either of you. If he wanted you dead, why would he have killed-?" Her hands came up to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. "Oh my God, I shouldn't have looked at his body. It was dreadful! I didn't realize it was Rio until I saw his horse. And it's all my fault," she cried.

Scott reached out instinctively to comfort her and she sank into his arms, sobbing. She was warm and pliant in his arms, causing his heart to ache with regret.

Her fit of tears didn't last long. She sat back on her heels, brushed her hair out of her face and rubbed her red, swollen eyes. With a wan smile, she asked, "Lord, this whole fiasco has sure turned on its heel, hasn't it?"

Scott reached out and stroked a stray hair back from where it clung to her damp cheek. He asked softly, "Who was that Comanchero, Melody? You knew him."

She glanced at the door as she took in a ragged breath. Her lower lip trembled when she said in a small voice, "He was the man who escorted me here from Mexico."

"You never told me. . . I thought you came all that way alone."

"I left for home soon after I was told that Nando had been killed. There was this man around the camp, a Comanchero called Rio. He said he was fixing to head to San Francisco and he'd take me where I wanted to go." Her eyes raised to meet Scott's. "I couldn't tell anyone about it."

"You set off with some stranger?" Scott hadn't expected his words to sound quite as accusing as they did, so he tried to rectify his mistake. "I know it was a really difficult time for you, Melody, but traveling with that man was very risky."

"You think I didn't know that? You'd prefer it if I'd come all that way alone? If I had I'd probably be dead along the trail, or . . .or God knows what fate might have befallen me."

"Of course I wouldn't want anything to happen to you," he replied consolingly. Scott reached out to touch her arm, but just as his hand touched her, he jerked it back. He couldn't be touching another man's wife, even if the temptation was overwhelming. "But what was he doing hanging around your ranch?"


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12 - THE STANDOFF

Frowning, Melody looked with concern at Scott. "What do you mean Rio was hanging around my ranch? He only stayed until my father was buried, then he headed out for Frisco. That was weeks ago."

Scott shook his head slowly, unsure what to make of her denial. "Johnny saw his horse on your ranch only a few days ago."

She took a breath and began to reply, but caught herself. After a moment of thought, she said defiantly, "Rio saved my life on the trail more than once. How did you think I made it back here in one piece? But if you're thinking I invited him to warm my bed, then you're barking-."

"You can bet that Fernando thinks that or he wouldn't have risked everything back there in the dark last night. I'll bet he didn't kill that Comanchero to save Johnny and me. I think he killed your Rio because he knew what he meant to you, and he cut his throat out of sheer pleasure."

Melody looked as if she'd been physically stricken. "Scott! How is that possible?"

"If Johnny spotted your Comachero at your ranch, then it's likely that Fernando did, too."

"Stop calling him _my_ Comanchero," she hissed. "And if Nando was out to murder every man who came in contact with me, he'd surely have killed you right off."

"He would have killed me when we fought in your kitchen, if he'd had the chance. Especially when he found out we'd been as man and wife." Scott's thoughts jumped back to the night he'd spent with Melody and he wondered if Rio had seen them return from their trip - and if he'd seen Scott spend the night at the S-Bar-M hacienda. Their wedding night, he thought ruefully. It all seemed a long time ago now.

"Then why hasn't Fernando killed you by now? He could have left you and Johnny out there to die last night," Melody retorted.

"Look, shooting a border bandit is one thing, but murdering Johnny or me would have every lawman for a few hundred miles hunting him down, dead or alive." Scott wet a cloth and held it to his brother's brow and gently damped his pale lips, but the unconscious man never stirred. "And another thing," Scott said, "You know that the marshal said that the man he was tracking had left a trail of dead men all the way from the border? We thought that man was the Comanchero, this fellow Rio, but it looks like that killer was Fernando. The marshal couldn't have been tracking Rio if he'd been at your ranch the whole time, could he?"

As Scott stated his case, Melody lowered her head without saying a word in defense of her husband. Sorry he'd had to tell her such things about her husband, Scott stood and laid a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. She motioned towards where Johnny lay on the floor. "Better get back to tending Johnny. Looks like he's wakin' up." She walked into the kitchen area and, opening a tin of tea, she said shakily, "I'll get us something hot to drink."

"Melody, you have to face facts," Scott insisted. He knelt next to Johnny and placed a hand on his brother's forehead. Johnny stirred when he felt the human contact, his lips opening a little as his head rolled to one side. Scott comforted him, saying soothingly, "Johnny, it's all right. I'm right here." Raising Johnny a little, Scott held a canteen to his lips and allowed him a small sip of water. Johnny, only semi-conscious, raised one hand limply, but it soon fell back to his side. Scott said softly, "Hang in there, Johnny. I'll go for help as soon as I can." He looked up at Melody and said urgently, "Fernando is a cold-blooded killer. You can't ride out with him or you'll end up going to Hell right alongside him!"

Melody's hands hesitated as she poured hot water over some tea leaves. "Scott," she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, "you don't really think that Rio was following because he wanted me?"

There was sound from the doorway and they both turned in alarm to see the cabin door was open and Mendoza was standing there, silhouetted against the brightening daylight.

"Afraid he wasn't interested in you, my chica," he said with a sneer. "Rio was camping out on your doorstep waiting for me. See, when I put Paradine out of his misery, I stumbled on his stash of gold. Rio wasn't exactly the man of honor you thought he was. I guess he found out somehow I wasn't as dead as I pretended to be. He took you back to the ranch and waited, expecting me to show up along with the loot. It was a long shot, but he musta figured I'd come back to you like a bee to honey. And he was right." Mendoza took a couple of steps into the cabin and raised his six-gun in Scott's direction. "Don't even think about it, Lancer. One more body isn't going to make much of a difference at this point. And she," he said with a nod in his wife's direction, "she ain't worth the trouble as far as you're concerned."

Scott rose to his feet, even though Johnny was stirring. A glance down told him that his brother's eyes were opening, but he hoped that Johnny wasn't conscious enough yet to cause any trouble. He tore his gaze away to look at the Comanchero. "Mendoza, if your wife isn't worth anything to you, how about you leave her here and just ride away. Before it's too late," he threatened.

Melody took a step towards her husband, her face flushed with anger. "You made me go through hell," she asked in a dangerously low tone, "and let me believe you were dead, because you killed Paradine for some loot? I had to travel in the company of that man. . ." She pointed in the direction of Rio's body and said, her voice raising in anger, " . . .that man who had his way with me, just so I could get back home, and you stand there so damned proud of yourself?"

"Melody, honey," said Mendoza. "This is for both of us. We can live like royalty on that gold down in Mexico. Better than sticking around here and working ourselves to death on some down-at-the-heels cattle ranch!"

She shouted, "Don't you 'honey' me! I should have let Rio stick around just so he could put an end to your miserable life!" She moved right up to Fernando's side even though Scott reached out quickly to try to stop her from approaching him. She ignored the revolver in her husband's hand and fixed her eyes on his bearded face. "I should have shot you on sight," she spat. "Just shot you when you came to my house! Yes, _my_ house. You want to throw away the only home I ever had and go to Mexico? And for what? So you can play bandito? Be on the run all the time?" Her chest was heaving, her eyes alight with fire as she lectured her husband. "Maybe Scott here should have beaten you to a pulp like he wanted to when he had the chance. Then I'd have been a real widow and been free to marry to a decent man like Scott Lancer."

Mendoza looked down at her upturned face and laughed. "Somehow I doubt that Mr. Upstanding Scott Lancer thinks of you as the kind of girl he'd marry. You're damaged goods," he said. "Honey, you let every pair of pants ridin' down the trail get under your pretty skirts, but I know none of them meant anything to you. You'll always be mine." Melody struck out at him with an angry cry, but he parried her fists and held her to his chest. "Good thing your real husband isn't so picky."

Scott demanded, "Unhand her, Mendoza," but at that moment Johnny chose to come fully awake with a loud groan. He struggled into a sitting position despite Scott's sharp command that he lie still.

"Just get me up," Johnny said hoarsely. "I can handle him. Where's my gun?" he asked groggily.

Scott knew it was no time to act foolishly and rush the gun-wielding Mendoza. His immediate concern was his brother. Kneeling by Johnny's side, Scott calmed him, sparing only a glance for Mendoza and the woman held fast in his arms.

Mendoza announced to no one in particular, "We're leaving." His wife refused, but he held her in his steely grip. "Don't quarrel, woman. Someone's coming up the trail. Still a-ways off, but they're heading this way."

Johnny leaned against Scott and held a hand to his wounded shoulder. With narrowed eyes, he rasped, "You better run. Mendoza, 'cause you're gonna need a head start."

When Scott was sure that Johnny could remain sitting upright on his own, he stood away from him and warned Mendoza, "Leave the woman behind or the law will catch up with you before noon." Scott put out a hand to beckon Melody, even though she was still captured within the crook of her husband's arm. "If you leave her here, Fernando, I'll stall them," he promised with a jerk of his head to indicate he was referring to the approaching riders.

Somehow Johnny rose to his feet on his own, and although he wasn't steady at first, he straightened his back and managed to look dangerous enough for Mendoza to eye him with apprehension.

Scott stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother; his hand hovered near his pistol, yet he wasn't about to risk hitting Melody with some wild move. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Johnny, unsteady on his feet, settling into his gunfighter's stance, and it worried him - for all of their sakes.

Mendoza said adamantly, "I'm not leaving Melody behind, not for you to have. We're riding out now and you'd be smart to back off," he said as his eyes flicked from one to the other Lancer brother.

Johnny, his face pale, had sweat beading across his forehead at the effort it took him to stand. The blanket, hanging around his shoulders like a poncho, fell back and exposed that he was wearing his gun belt and his hand was steady. "We're gonna take you to face the law in Spanish Wells, Mendoza," he said ruthlessly. "Or are you planning on using Melody as a shield? You _did_ leave a woman to clean up your mess back in Mexico, didn't you?" His hand made the slightest of motions towards his Colt, and the other occupants of the cabin all took notice.

Fernando Mendoza bristled at Johnny's inference that he was a coward. "This will have to wait for another day, Johnny. But one day I'll be back and we'll meet mano a mano, eh? Volveré y acabaremos esta conversación." Melody was squirming, but her husband retained his grip on her and backed out, his gun held at the ready.

Both of the Lancer brothers advanced one step, their right hands hovering close to their still-holstered sidearms. Mendoza's face lit with fear and he adjusted the grip he had around his wife's waist. Then, instead of pointing his .45 at the Lancer brothers, he turned it on his wife, raising it to her head. "Get back or I'll hurt her. Toss your guns outside the door! Pronto!"

Melody flinched from gun barrel held to her temple, here eyes wide with near panic.

"Don't hurt her!" Scott pled. He desperately wanted to get Melody away from her husband, but he knew that Mendoza was a loose cannon, and might even make true on his threat. Scott spared a glance at Johnny, trying to gauge what his next step was likely to be, but at that moment, Melody cried out in fear, and that was enough to bring Johnny to a halt.

"Let's not doing anything crazy," Johnny said evenly. With a shrug he relaxed his hand and held it a little away from his holster. "Just let the girl go, Fernando. Scott, don't you do nothing."

Mendoza's finger slipped from the guard to the trigger. "Take your guns out with your fingertips. I even think you're going to try something, I'll shoot her."

It took Scott a few seconds more to make the decision to move his hand away from his gun and take a step back. "We're not going to do anything - if you let Melody go."

"Toss them out. Now! Careful." Mendoza ordered, his eyes darting from one brother to the other. "Watch how you hold that gun, Johnny." Reluctantly, Johnny and then Scott pulled their guns out of their holsters with their fingertips and pitched them out the door. Satisfied, Mendoza grinned. He backed out the cabin door, his wife securely in his grip, and kicked the door shut as soon as he was clear of it.

Once the door had closed behind Mendoza and his wife, Johnny wavered on his feet, spent from the exertion. Scott immediately put an arm around him, intending to help him to a chair, but Johnny would have none of it. "Get me over to the door," he said between gritted teeth.

Scott draped Johnny's good arm around his shoulder and said, "Just don't pass out on me, okay?"

"Doin' my best," Johnny replied. When he reached the door, he leaned against the wall and let out a groan. He slipped his arm from his brother's shoulder and clutched at his wound. "I think you're gonna have to go out there and get our guns back." He took in a ragged breath and peered at Scott through half closed lids. "Unless you want to wait for the posse to chase them down."

Scott opened the door a sliver, just enough for them both to see what was going on. From where the brothers stood, they could see Mendoza pushing his struggling wife onto her horse. Once she was up in the saddle, she tried to kick him, but he avoided her booted foot. He took hold of her leg in what appeared to be a firm grip, eliciting a cry of pain from her. They had a heated discussion, even though it was obvious that Mendoza was itching to get away from the quick glance he made down the trail.

"Trouble in Paradise," Johnny commented wryly. "You go out this door and he'll see you. Wait until they leave the corral."

"I'm not going to let him take her," Scott said adamantly as he kept his eyes fixed on Mendoza.

"Figured as much," Johnny replied with a pained smile. "You got a plan I should know about?"

"Nope." Was the terse response.

"Figured as much."

"Wait a minute. . . " Scott ran to the fireplace to retrieve the rifle that Mendoza had forgotten in his hasty exit. He rushed back to the door and leaned against the doorjamb, supported the rifle to carefully take aim at Mendoza. Scott had him in his sights, and his finger tightened on the trigger, but suddenly his vision became distorted and he could see two figures where there had just been one. He blinked and tried to clear his eyes, but he couldn't determine which of the two Mendozas he had in his sights was the real man.

Johnny saw that Scott was having trouble. "Gimme the gun, Scott. I'll do it, but you'll have to help me hold the barrel steady."

"No, you can't," Scott replied impatiently. He tried again to get a bead on Mendoza, but this time a blinding white light flashed in his eyes. "Damn!"

Melody was kicking up a fuss, but it only took one strike of her husband's hand to silence her. She slumped over her horse's neck and cowered, appearing to submit to Fernando's will.

"C'mon, Scott," Johnny said. "You're gonna shoot the woman if you're not careful. Hurry up, give it to me, they're going." Johnny took hold of the rifle and hastily pulled it to his right shoulder. He was as weak as a cat and experienced considerable pain from the movement, but he shoved the discomfort back so he could get on with the job.

Mendoza was mounted and clear of the corral, with the reins of the dappled gray as well as those belonging to Melody's horse in one hand. Scott reached around Johnny's body to support the heavy gun barrel for him, hoping his brother would get one clear shot. Johnny whispered, "Steady, steady," but just as his finger tightened on the trigger, there was loud report of a gun from somewhere below them on the trail. Distracted, Johnny missed his chance and lowered the unfired weapon. "It's the posse," he said with a grin.

Scott opened the door wider and staggered out in time to see Mendoza spur his horse away and up to the top of the hill, forcing Melody to go along with him. Scott grabbed the rifle from Johnny's hand and pulled it to his own shoulder in one swift, skillful movement. Hoping fervently that his vision wasn't lying to him, he took aim at Mendoza's receding figure, and just as the riders disappeared over the crest, he sent off a round. The rifle's report resounded loudly off the hills, but he heard nothing, he was concentrating so hard on watching the vanishing riders. He could have sworn that, even at such a distance, he'd hit his target.

Roberto Cipriano, the marshal, and several other men thundered by on their heavily breathing horses. They took off up the hill and disappeared from sight, hard on the trail of the Comanchero and his woman.

Another rider came up the incline to the cabin, but this one didn't follow the posse. The man pulled his horse in and dismounted quickly.

Scott stood in place, the rifle held loosely in his hands now that it was of no more use to him. It wasn't until his father came up behind him, took hold of his shoulders to steer him back into the cabin, that he found he'd been holding his breath.

Murdoch got his sons back in the cabin, He settled Scott in a chair and Johnny on the bed with care and efficiency, checking their condition, asking only a few questions. Johnny was the one who made all the replies; Scott had blinding lights flashing in his eyes and such pain in his head that he was nauseous and couldn't have responded if his life had depended on it.

Johnny lay still, for the most part, while his father checked the damage that lay under the bloodstained bandage. A wince and a gasp he let out, despite his best efforts to remain stoic, elicited a tight-mouthed apology from Murdoch.

"I think he's hurtin' more than me," Johnny said, pointing at Scott, who sat slumped in a chair.

Murdoch glanced over his shoulder at his oldest son, then shook his head. "I don't think so." He said, "I'm going out to get my saddle bag. Lucky for you, I brought plenty of medical supplies."

Johnny managed a grin, but he replied, "He is worse off than me. Seems what's ailing him ain't going to be so easy to fix."

Murdoch went to his oldest son's side and had a good look at the wound on his scalp. He poured Scott a drink of tea, and coerced him to drink it. Within a few minutes, Scott had improved enough to speak. Whatever had come over him had swept in and then back out like a wave. With a hand held to his eyes, he asked worriedly, "They'll get her back, won't they? They'll be careful?"

"Of course they will, son." Murdoch looked over to Johnny, who was shaking his head.

"Most men would have left the woman behind," Johnny said. "Mendoza took her along out of spite, I think. A reluctant female is too much of a hindrance." He said to Scott, "She might get free on her own. She's smart."

Scott's head went up, but not because of what Johnny had said. He seemed to be listening to something going on outside the cabin. "Horses," he said. Both he and Murdoch got to the door about the same time, and with his father's steadying hand under his elbow, Scott stepped outside to see who was approaching.

It turned out to be one rider, Roberto Cipriano, his serape flapping behind him in his haste. He rode in fast, leading a riderless horse. Scott saw with horror that it was Melody's mare, and that there was blood on the saddle.


	13. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13 - DISGRACE

Murdoch grabbed the bridle of Cipriano's horse and anxiously called up to the rider, "What happened?"

Scott didn't wait to hear the answer, but slid his hand along the shoulder of the mare that Melody had been riding, to touch the dark spots of blood smeared across the saddle leather. With his voice shaking imperceptibly, he asked, "Where's Melody?"

"I'm right here," said a small voice.

Scott jerked his head around. There, perched on the horse behind the bulky body of Roberto Cipriano, and half-hidden in the folds of his voluminous poncho, was Melody. Her hat was gone and her hair tumbled loose over her shoulders. With eyes wide, she didn't move, waiting to find out what Scott's reaction to her return was going to be.

Without any hesitation, Scott reached up with both hands and pulled her off Cipriano's horse. "Come here, my girl," Scott cried. Melody slid down into his strong arms and burst into tears. He hugged her as if he was never going to let her go, his face buried in her long hair. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?" When she didn't reply, Scott held her away from his body to inspect her for any injuries. Her face was scraped and her clothing was torn and muddied as if she had taken a fall, but there was no sign of any other injury.

Melody gulped and shook her head negatively, but Cipriano said to Scott, "I think maybe she broke her arm."

"Let's get her inside," Murdoch suggested.

Scott ushered Melody towards the cabin, his arm wrapped solicitously around her waist. "I'm all right, honest," she assured him. Turning back to look at Cipriano, she nodded her thanks.

Cipriano spoke directly to Murdoch, but his voice carried. "It looks like the Comanchero was hit."

"How bad?"

"Bad enough. Blood on the ground every five feet." Cipriano motioned in the direction from which he'd come. "He took off and left the woman behind. The signs show he's leading a second horse."

"Damn. Once our men's horses are spent, they don't have any backup," Murdoch pointed out. "Mendoza's got the advantage with his extra horse."

"Maybe he'll bleed to death and fall off somewhere up in the foothills," said Cipriano hopefully.

Scott hesitated in the doorway to the cabin and looked back, listening to the conversation, but Melody leaned against him and he helped her inside before she fainted.

"Still aways to go before he gets to the badlands," the Lancer vaquero pointed out. "The marshal isn't going to give up, either. He's as tough as leather, that one. How far you want us to go, Mr. Lancer?"

Murdoch replied, "Stick with the marshal as far as the border. After that, if he hasn't caught this man, let him recruit another posse. Your place is here, taking care of Lancer interests."

"I'll tell the men," he said, "but now I'm going back to join the hunt, señor." He spurred his mount away in the direction the posse had taken with a wave of his hand.

Once inside, Melody's strength seemed to evaporate and, weak-kneed, she sank gratefully into a chair that Scott pulled forward. Murdoch went to check on Johnny, who was resting quietly on the bed. Taking off his corduroy jacket, Murdoch laid it over the blanket that was pulled up over Johnny's chest. He then asked Johnny something in a low tone and the reply seemed to satisfy him. He turned to see how Scott and Melody were faring. "I'll pour you something hot to drink, Miss," Murdoch offered.

"Thank you, Mr, Lancer," she replied. She flushed, her cheeks turning deep pink in contrast with her pale skin. "I don't want to put you out."

"Just glad to get you back safe and sound, young lady. Your father never would have forgiven me if anything had happened to you." Murdoch poured hot tea into a medley of assorted cups and mugs.

Scott pulled a chair up to sit facing Melody, never taking his eyes from her face. He reached out a hand to gently sweep her red-gold hair off her forehead, but she brushed his hand away, as if embarrassed. "Sit still," Scott ordered. "You have a bad scrape on your forehead and there's dirt in it." He asked Murdoch to bring over some hot water and a cloth.

"You don't look so good yourself," she pointed out as she covered her injured forearm with her right hand.

Scott ignored her comment about his appearance. He did, indeed, feel off-color, but while he still had some strength he was going to take care of his woman as best he could. "Let me see your arm," he said brusquely.

She drew back, and opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment Murdoch placed a bowl of hot water, along with a threadbare old towel, in Scott's lap. Throwing a glance in Murdoch's direction as he went to Johnny's side, Melody shook her head and whispered, "It's fine, Scott."

She tried to elude his touch, but Scott was not about to be denied his chance to tend to her. In a stern tone, he said, "It is not fine."

Raising her eyes to meet Scott's, Melody replied softly, "No, I suppose it isn't fine, is it? I messed things up."

"None of this was your doing, Melody," he assured her. "Let's get your coat off, if we can."

Once her coat had been removed, she gingerly held up her left hand. "It's the same hand I hurt before," she said. "I can tell my arm isn't broken, but it does hurt some."

When Scott held her hand in his, he could see it was a bit swollen and her forearm was badly bruised. The scar from the cut she had sustained back when she'd tried repairing her barn was visible on the back of her hand. "Seems like a long time ago," he said aloud without meaning to. Their eyes met, and it was plain to see that Melody remembered that meeting in the hayloft as well as he did.

She said regretfully, "I never gave you your ring back." She tugged at the engagement ring but winced. "It won't come off. My fingers have swollen up." A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another. "I'm so sorry, Scott."

Scott, unable to let her suffer alone, leaned forward and took her gently in her arms. Assuring her it wasn't her fault, he stroked her back and murmured comforting words. "Melody," he whispered, "I don't want that ring back. You know what I do want. Nothing can change my feelings for you." He searched her face, trying to ascertain that she still had affection for him, but she just buried her face in his chest.

Murdoch sat on the edge of the bed and helped Johnny drink some hot tea. He broke up some biscuits he'd brought along and offered the pieces to his son, who was able to get down a few mouthfuls before he sank back on his pallet, spent.

Johnny spoke up from where he lay on the bed. "Don't go blamin' yourself for old Mendoza's actions, ma'am. We saw how he was treating you. He only cared for going back to Mexico."

Melody slowly removed herself from Scott's grasp. Not looking at the men, she brushed her hair back from her face and responded, "If I hadn't left your house and gone back to warn him . . .you and Johnny wouldn't be hurting. . . "

Murdoch brought her a cup of hot tea. "Enough of these self-recriminations. Let me look at your face, and then get a splint on your arm, just in case it is broken. Scott, go find a bit of straight wood." For a moment, it appeared that his son would refuse his suggestion, but with a worried glance at Melody, Scott agreed and stepped outside.

By the time Scott returned with a smooth piece of wood for a splint, Murdoch had completed cleaning the grime from her face and Melody was finishing her hot drink. Her forehead was scraped, but it didn't appear to be serious. Instead of giving up his seat to Scott, Murdoch remained where he was and took the piece of wood from his son. He skillfully bandaged up Melody's left arm, checked that the splint wasn't too tight. As he rose, Murdoch slung his arm around Scott's shoulder and resolutely guided him towards the armchair by the fire. "Sit here."

With reluctance, Scott complied. He knew why his father was trying to separate him from Melody, but his heart told him that his place was by her side. In a low voice, Scott asserted, "You know I'm never going to change my mind about her."

Murdoch looked untroubled by Scott's declaration. He just placed one hand gently on his son's shoulder. "Son, give the woman some time. Her husband is out there, being chased down by our men, and he's most likely going to get caught and killed. This isn't the time to press her."

Acknowledging that his father was right, Scott sighed and remained where he was. He kept an eye on Melody, however, hoping to catch her eye, but she never looked up at him. She faced the open doorway as if hoping to catch sight of someone riding back down the hill to the cabin. The sunlight streamed in, bringing a semblance of warmth to the dreary cabin.

Murdoch pulled some food out of his saddlebag and scrounged around in the rustic kitchen for a while before tossing some of the ingredients he found into a frying pan. Within a few minutes, he had dished up portions on tin plates to Melody and Scott, despite their lack of interest in the food. "I'm known to be a good camp cook," Murdoch said, pretending to be hurt they weren't eating. "Time was, I fried up a meal for a snowbound cabin-full of Boston chefs, and they came back for second helpings."

After making sure that Murdoch wasn't pulling her leg, Melody started to eat, but Scott shook his head in refusal. "I can't," he said.

His father looked at him closely. "You seeing double, son?"

Scott rested his head on his hand and closed his eyes. "No, just don't feel like eating."

Johnny was the one who eventually asked the questions that needed to be answered. He weakly asked his father, "How'd you know we rode along this trail?"

Murdoch replied, "One of the men at the S-Bar-M saw you and Scott ride out and we figured out which way you'd gone. Not that we could even see the trail once it started raining. We went back to the hacienda at the S-Bar-M until the rain let up." He looked over at Scott and said, "If the men don't return in a short while, I'll ride over to Morro Coyo and get a couple of wagons and the Doc back here. I should have sent Roberto when he came back with the girl."

"You see the dead man back on the trail?" Johnny asked.

"Yes," was Murdoch's curt reply.

"Don't feel too badly for him. He's the one that shot Scott and me," Johnny said. "He thought we were Mendoza, it seems."

At the mention of her husband's name, Melody put down her plate and went to stand in the doorway. With arms crossed, she looked off into the distance.

Scott asked her, "That was Fernando's blood on the saddle?" When she didn't reply, he levered himself out of his chair. Despite a stern look from his father, Scott joined the young woman. He stood right behind her, overshadowing her. "Melody?"

She leaned against the doorjamb, her shoulders drooping. "I didn't realize he'd been shot until he fell against me," she said in a dispassionate way. "I got knocked out of my saddle. When I caught my breath I saw Nando had righted himself."

"How bad was he hurt?"

As if she hadn't heard the question, Melody mused, "You know, it really is beautiful up here."

"Melody-."

She sighed. "He just sat there in his saddle and looked at me, down on the ground." Melody pivoted to face Scott and said bemusedly, "He just stared at me like he didn't even know who I was." She shook her head and added wryly, "Hell, I don't even know who I am any more, so why should anyone else?"

"Oh, don't say that," Scott said. He enveloped Melody's small figure in this arms, pulled her to his chest. "You're mine. That's who you are." He kissed the top of her head. "So there'll be no more talk about him, or what's gone on here. We'll get you home and all fixed up and in a few days everything will be back to normal." He spoke with self-assurance, but he was concerned that if Fernando Mendoza wasn't caught, the man would always haunt them. Even if he was captured or killed, he'd probably prove to be as much a problem as when he was alive. Scott hoped that his bullet had hit Mendoza in a place that would prove fatal and, ashamed of himself, he hoped beyond anything that Melody would never know what he had wished for.

A rider appeared at the crest of the hill, and Melody stiffened. Scott recognized him as one of their ranch hands, Grayson. As he approached it became apparent his horse was lame. When the young man eventually got down to the cabin, Murdoch pushed past Scott to quiz him about what had happened.

"This is Frank's horse. The marshal made me trade horses and come back here," Grayson said resentfully. "I might be young but I'm no kid. I can hold my own in a gun fight."

"Any sign of Mendoza?" Murdoch asked.

Grayson shook his head. "Nope. The Comanchero's one sneaky bastard, he sure is. Made a false trail but we caught on and were on to him. That's when Frank's horse foundered. Damn it all." He spotted Melody listening to him from the doorway of the cabin, so he touched his hat and apologized for his language.

"Well, I'm glad you're the one they sent back. I need a fast rider," Murdoch said, "and you're just the man for the job. My sons are both injured and we need the doctor brought out here. A wagon, too. You ride Scott's horse to Morro Coyo."

Within a few minutes, Grayson was on his way. He headed up the trail behind the cabin, but instead of heading west in the direction the posse had taken, he whipped his mount east, along the road to Morro Coyo.

~•~

Melody pulled her chair over to the fire and sat close to Scott. She stared at the fire for a while, then turned to face the blond man. "Scott, I'll never forgive myself I don't say my piece to you."

Despite the painful pounding in his head, Scott sat up and waited expectantly. "I'm listening."

Suddenly shy, Melody started fiddling with the bandage that bound up her arm. "You see, Scott, I will always have an ache. . ." She touched one hand to her breast. "Right here. I'll always know that I chose the wrong road for the right reason. I truly thought my husband. . ." She stumbled over the word 'husband', but after a moment continued. "When I went to warn him, I wasn't acting against you. I couldn't just stand by and watch some lawman run him down for something he didn't even do. Now I know that what Nando did was far worse than I imagined, and I can only guess that if I knew then what I know now - that I never would have gone to him."

"It does no good second-guessing like this, Melody-."

"I'm not second-guessing, really I'm not. It's just that. . .when you found out about Rio, and how I came up from Mexico in his company. . .I saw the look on your face, Scott, and that what I'd done was unforgivable in your eyes."

Scott's hand raised in denial, but she went on, saying, "You see, I'm at my best when I'm with a man who really needs me. If Fernando had told me what he was up to, I'd probably have supported him, right or wrong. And Rio, he was an exciting man. He wasn't all bad, but I knew which side of the law he lived on. I'd have stuck by him if he'd have had me, but he was after the money Nando stole from Paradine."

She gave a smile so fleeting that Scott barely caught it. "I'd have even gone with Paradine if I'd had the chance," she said without remorse, "and even if was charming enough to make a nun weep, he was a real bad man underneath. So you see, I'm not the kind of gal for the likes of you. The problem is that you're too good for me, and you just plain don't need me. You're strong and have such a fine family. When I first saw you I thought, my, my, here comes my one chance to redeem myself, if he'll only have me."

"You don't need to redeem yourself, Melody. I'll have you," Scott insisted. "All of this doesn't matter to me."

She shook her head. "Soon enough, you'd regret taking me for your wife, Scott Lancer, and I can't let you make that bad a mistake. Not on my behalf."

"Please, listen to me," Scott beseeched. He placed his hand on her arm, trying to get her attention. "You're wrong about all of this, Melody. I can see you more clearly than you'll ever know. Just give me the chance to prove to you that we can make a go of this. I still want to marry you, all properly, and once we're together, with nobody to come between us, you'll realize it's right."

With a sad smile, Melody took Scott's hand in her own, intertwining her fingers with his. "Scott," she said huskily, "I can't and won't do that to you, and the pain of knowing you'll never hold me again is just about breaking me in two." She gave a sob, but brought her hand to her mouth to stifle it. Rising quickly, she broke her hold on Scott and left the confines of the rustic shelter.

Scott sat staring at the door that had just shut behind Melody. He had meant what he'd said. No matter what she thought, he did need her, more than she would ever know. Making the decision to bring her back inside, he went to the door. As he flung it open, the sound of clattering hooves announced Melody Mendoza's departure. Scott staggered outside in time to call after her as she rode past as if the Devil was after her and disappeared down the trail they'd traveled upon the night before.


	14. Chapter 14

Note...thanks to all the guest reviewers as well as to everyone else who left a comment. As I said at the beginning, I wrote this some time ago, and haven't written Lancer for about six years, I think. I do have a few stories I will post here, bit by bit. Enjoy!

...

CHAPTER 14 - DREAMS

The cabin was quiet. Scott sat morosely in his chair in front of the fire, his head in his hands. Murdoch had tried to console him, to no avail. Johnny had watched him moving about the cabin from his bed, but had said nothing, not even when Scott had erupted, backhanding everything off the kitchen table in his fury.

The next time they heard the sound of horses approaching, the rumble of a wagon accompanied it. Murdoch flung open the door and hurried out to greet the driver of the buckboard, Señor Baldomero. The shopkeeper had volunteered to drive his own vehicle to the remote cabin and had come well prepared with blankets and other supplies.

Right on his heels was Grayson on a fresh mount, riding by the side of Dr. Jenkins, who arrived in his own buggy.

Within a minute of checking on Scott's condition, the doctor left him for Johnny's side. He proceeded to withdraw his equipment from his large, black bag. Even though he was barely conscious, Johnny blanched at the sight of the sharp instruments and bottles of liquid. He whispered, "Doc?"

"You rest quiet now, son," the doctor instructed. After a cursory examination of his unwilling patient, Jenkins pronounced, "This young man needs more than we can give him in this damp place."

"Doc, I just want to get home. I'm fine as I am." Johnny feebly struggled, as if he was about to get up and head for his horse.

"Johnny," Murdoch intervened. "Nobody's buying what you're selling."

"Don't you worry none," the doctor assured him. "I'm just going to freshen up this bandage, get it real tight, then we'll put you in the back of the wagon. Mr. Baldomero brought his best rig just for you Lancer boys."

From the doorway, the shopkeeper said encouragingly, "It's the best-sprung wagon made. Your ride back home will be like riding on a pillow."

Johnny looked from his father to the doctor. "Is Scott okay?"

"You can ask him yourself," Murdoch replied. "He'll be lying right beside you in the back of the wagon."

Scott rose from his place by the fire and slowly walked over to Johnny's bed. He staggered slightly and held onto Murdoch's shoulder for balance as casually as he could. "Hey, Johnny, just let the doc fix you up and we'll be back home in no time." When Johnny nodded, Scott added, "I'm sorry for getting you into this. Really sorry."

Murdoch helped the doctor, then when they were satisfied that they had done all they could for Johnny to ready him for the trip, they settled him in the back of the wagon. Scott objected, but finally agreed to lie by his brother's side, and they headed out.

Once they made it up the slope and had gained the road, they headed home. Although there had been a lot of rain, the gravel tracks were not as muddy as Murdoch had feared they would be. He cringed at every bump and jolt the wagon took, but he needn't have worried, for both of his sons had succumbed to the dark oblivion of unconsciousness.

~•~

When Scott awoke, it was in stages. At first, the pain in his head was almost too much to bear, and he couldn't even open his eyes, but someone poured some vile medicine down his throat and the agony receded. The next time he emerged from sleep, all he could do was watch the faces hover over him liquefying like a landscape undulating with heat waves.

He suddenly found himself leaning over the edge of his bed, heaving what little contents his stomach had held into a basin. Then it was night and he was so hot they were bathing him with cool water. Melody was there, leaning over his bed, her hair afire in the brilliant light of late afternoon. She smiled and ran a cloth over his chest, but her words were overwhelmed by the rushing sound in his ears.

The pale fingers of dawn crept across the grayness of his room. Scott slowly became aware that he had survived his illness, and had emerged from the other side of a dark place with his wits intact. He moved his head with no terrible consequences and looked around his room, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. It took him a minute to realize that the man slumped in the wingback chair at his bedside was Johnny. His brother's dark hair was falling over his forehead, casting a shadow across his face. Even in the dim light, Scott could tell that Johnny was pallid. His arm was captured in a white sling and his good hand cradled his injured arm, even in sleep.

A sound escaped from Scott's lips, something between a moan and a croak. He attempted to call out his brother's name, and although the sound was feeble, it was enough to wake Johnny from his slumber.

Suddenly alert, Johnny leaned forward and laid a hand on Scott's forearm. "Hey, you're awake. For real this time?"

Licking his lips, Scott glanced around for something to drink, and right away Johnny rose and poured out a glass of water for him. With a bit of help, Scott was able to quench his intense thirst, then he fell back on his pillow. "You. . . you look like you should be. . in bed, too," Scott muttered.

"Well, maybe now you're better, I can get some rest. You sure put us through the wringer, brother." Johnny spoke lightly, but the relief in his voice was evident.

Scott looked around the room. There was no doubt he was in his own bed, but he wondered how much time had passed. He had a feeling he'd been out of it for a couple of days. But then his gaze settled on Johnny's shoulder. It was bandaged, but it wasn't bulky and there was no sign of blood on the linen. Johnny might have been pale, but he was exhibiting no sign of pain and he had moved with apparent ease a few moments earlier. Scott asked, "How long. . ?"

"How long have you been here?" Johnny settled back in the comfortable chair. "Today'll make it, uh. . . seven days."

Scott raised a hand to his head. He winced when his fingers came in touch with the wound caused by the Rio's bullet. That was a whole week ago, he wondered? "How did. . ?" It seemed like he couldn't finish a sentence, but that didn't trouble Johnny.

"Baldomero drove us back down the long way. The very long way. I though we'd never get home. You're lucky. You were out the whole time." Johnny shifted in the chair, touching his shoulder at the memory. Then he gave a wry smile. "But we got back. Everyone was so worried about you they almost left me in the wagon all night." His smile developed into a wide grin. "You've been so out of it you even missed your lady visitor."

Scott's heart leaped at Johnny's words. "Melody? She was here?"

"Yup. She came over and mopped your sweaty brow." Johnny bent over his brother and said in a conspiring manner, "I'll bet she was wondering if she was gonna be a widow twice over in one week."

"You mean. . . they killed Mendoza?" Scott raised himself up on one elbow, but the half-seated position took too much effort to maintain.

Johnny pushed him back into a lying position. "'Fraid not, as far as I know." He shrugged. "Roberto and our men all came back last night. The marshal kept on following the trail, they said, but Murdoch had ordered them not to go any further."

"What about Mendoza? He was wounded."

"Fernando must have a lot of grit, that's for sure. Cipriano says he led them on a hell of a chase, but the posse never caught up with him. When the marshal runs him down, he'll shoot him on sight. I guess we just have to wait." He watched Scott take in the news, such as it was, and added assuringly, "She never left your side, brother. Not until it was plain you weren't gonna die on us. She went back to her place only this morning to get some sleep."

Scott closed his eyes, too drained to figure out if this was all good news or not.

Johnny patted his arm. "You rest. She'll be back next time you wake up." He slowly rose from his chair. "I'm gonna get myself some sleep, now you're awake." He headed for the door, the turned back to say, "Oh, I almost forgot. Melody left something for you in your table there."

Once Johnny had left, Scott turned his head on the pillow to stare at his bedside table. It took him a while and some nerve to prop himself up on one elbow in order to open its little drawer. There, among the bits and pieces he kept handy by his bedside, sat a white envelope. He hesitated then reached for it.

Inside there was a folded note, which he pulled out and read. It was simple enough. She had written, in a schoolgirl script, that she had finally been able to remove the engagement ring from her finger. She signed it only with an M. Scott upended the envelope and out fell the ring. He lay in his bed for some time, looking at the ring he had bestowed upon her back in Flat Bend. He thought about both the past and what his future would be like without her. Eventually the lingering effects of his head wound overwhelmed him and he fell asleep, the ring still within his grasp.

~•~

Two weeks passed and Melody did not return to Lancer. Scott sent over a letter, pages long, every word agonized over as if it was his only chance to get through to her. His emissary, Roberto, came back only with the news that the Señora had read the letter. "She did not write back to you, Señor Scott," he said sympathetically.

~•~

Scott had a difficult time getting his balance back, and his eyes hurt from the light enough to prevent him from going outside during the day. In due course his body healed, but his spirit was troubled.

He'd had plenty of time to think, that was for certain, and the woman whom he had pursued was foremost in his mind. At times he cursed her for her constant presence in his mind, but all the same he wished he could meet her face to face. He knew that she had meant what she'd said, up in the cabin on Garzas, that she believed that she was no good for him. She thought he didn't need her, but she was wrong.

Sometimes his heart went out to her, thinking of all she had gone through and survived, and how she had come through in one piece only because she was strong. His Melody was a fighter, no doubt about that. But then he thought of her confession about being willing to go with whichever man held out his hand to her.

He knew that he could offer her so much more than any of the men she had kept company with in the past. He could give her stability, comfort and, above all, unrelenting love. Was it possible that a woman such as she could only be attracted to men with a dark character? Maybe she thought she could redeem such men through her loyalty, caring, and attentiveness.

Then Scott would grow angry and think, 'Damn her, if she wants men like that, she can have them. She's throwing away the opportunity to make something better of herself, to have a good life with me.' And then the cycle of his thoughts would bring him back to regret that she had slipped away and his whole body would ache with unrequited love.

On the first evening he felt well enough to sit by the fire in the great room after supper, Scott posed some of his questions to his brother. Murdoch had gone up to bed to read, and they were alone. "Johnny, why do you think Melody was so upset over seeing that man Rio dead?"

Johnny put his feet up on the ottoman, but only after glancing over his shoulder to ensure that Teresa wasn't around to scold him. "You know women. They're squeamish. You think I like looking at day-old bodies?" He gave a mock shudder.

"I mean," Scott reasoned, "Melody traveled with him all the way here from Mexico, for safety's sake, she said. But it seemed to me like there was something more."

Johnny turned his head to look hard at his brother. "You mean because a pretty gal like that slept around this outlaw Rio's campfire for a couple of weeks?" Johnny thought for a minute, then shook his head. "You know, Mendoza made his wife out to be a loose hussy, but c'mon, she's not like that. Sometimes you have to lie with wolves to survive." He settled deeper into the soft cushions of the large couch.

Scott was quiet for a while, then said, "I want to think the best of her, but I keep wondering why, after she was told her husband died, she didn't take refuge at a church, or find a family traveling this way, or even wire us for money or help." He sideways at Johnny. "Do you have women attracted to you just because you're a gunfighter?"

Johnny looked taken aback at his brother's bluntness. "Sometimes,' he said slowly. "I _used_ to," he said with the stress on the past tense. "Some women like danger. . . and dangerous men. They don't see the whole picture, though." He squinted at Scott. "If you want my opinion, brother, I'll give it, but don't blame me if you don't like it."

"I'll take that as a fair warning," Scott replied with a slight smile.

"Well, first of all, with her husband still out there somewhere, your Melody ain't going to make any decision, either way. I think you need to go at this with a steady hand. She came back to her family ranch because she intended to make a life here. You have to give her a reason to share that life with you. That is, if you still want her for your wife."

Scott thought of himself as a steady man, one who thought out a situation, weighed the choices, and came to a sensible conclusion. But it seemed that the more he thought about Melody, the murkier his thoughts became. Maybe this distance from her wasn't helping any, he thought. Almost absently, he replied, "If I still want her for my wife?" He sat straight and said with force, "Darned right I do!"

Johnny chuckled. "Then you'd better get started working on her, 'cause I've got this feeling she's gonna take a whole lot of convincing."

A couple of days later, as soon as he felt recovered enough to drive a buggy, Scott Lancer put on his best suit and went to visit Mrs. Melody Mendoza at her ranch.

CHAPTER 15 - THE SPOILS OF LOVE

The door was answered by a young girl wearing an apron who Scott recognized as one of the Cipriano girls. He waited in the great room while she went to inform the Señora that Mr. Lancer was visiting. It appeared that the large front room had been tidied up considerably since his last visit and, with everything in its proper place the old house had regained some of its grandeur. Long minutes dragged past, the ticking of the clock on the mantle grew loud in the silent house, but there was still no sign of Melody.

Scott was sauntering around the big room for the fourth time, trying in vain to take an interest in the art on the walls, when Melody's voice called out from the doorway. "I told them you weren't gonna up and die just from a little ol' bullet crease to your head," she said with a straight face.

Scott just stood in place and watched her approach. Melody looked fresh and healthy and surprisingly cheerful, all of which confounded and then irritated Scott. Even her arm appeared to be healed; there was no sign of any bandage. He had expected to find her pining away for him, but here she was, decked out in a fine dress of dark green silk, lace around the low neckline, and a sweet, intolerably inviting smile on her face. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Her glowing, red-gold hair was swept up into a bun, with several ringlets curling across her shoulder to dangle lightly over her milky-white bosom. She looked the part of a lady.

Melody held out both of her hands as she drew near. Without thinking, his own hands reached out to capture hers.

She looked him over appraisingly. "My, my, you do look fine. A bit peaked, though. Are you sure you've recovered sufficiently to visit?"

Scott slowly withdrew his hands and drew himself up to his full height. He said stiffly, "I am fine, thank you. And how do you fare? You don't look the part of a grieving widow, but then you're not quite a widow, are you?"

Melody's eyes narrowed so slightly that if Scott hadn't been looking deeply into them, he might not have caught the gesture. He could see that she had taken offense at his prickly response. His taunt had escaped unbidden.

He had driven over with the intention of wooing her. Now that he'd come face to face with her, he was suddenly unsure of how to proceed. The engagement ring that she had returned to him was burning a hole in his breast pocket, but he wasn't at all confident that this was the time to bring up their future together. After all, as Johnny had pointed out, slow and easy was the best way to go.

She turned on her heel and sat primly on an upholstered chair, waving her arm to indicate he should take a seat near her.

Scott remembered the previous occasion he'd sat in this very room with Mrs. Mendoza. That time she had gouged the table with her spurs. Now her small feet were donned in delicate kid shoes; she placed their soles neatly on the floor.

After arranging her skirts around her, Melody looked at Scott directly. "You really want to know how I am, Mr. Lancer? I'm passable. Of course, not knowing if my dear husband is alive or has been shot dead by a posse, well, you can understand if I'm not quite settled."

"You're angry with me," Scott said.

Melody bit her lip then shook her head. "No." Tiredly, she said, "No, sir, if I'm angry with anyone, it is Fernando. It turns out he wasn't quite the man I thought I'd married. It seems like I'm always roping the wrong steer." She smiled tightly. "Let's not talk about him or about any of what went on up there on the Garzas. I suggest we make a fresh start."

It took a few moments for Scott to decide how to reply. He bowed his head in consent then looked up to meet her gaze. "That's fine with me, Ma'am. My brother tells me that you were by my bedside. . . that you. . .I don't recall much, but I'm sure you were there. It was good of you. . ."

As if she could no longer remain still, she leaned forward and her words spilled out. "Oh, Scott, I had to be by your side when you were so ill. . ."

Scott spoke at the same time. "I thought I was only dreaming that you were there, but. . ."

She cried, "When I thought you were going to die, I knew I couldn't live without you! I would have taken my own life had you expired."

"Lord, no, don't say that!" He quickly stood and took a step towards her.

She rose to meet him. "I'm so sorry!" Tentatively at first, her hand reached out, then she touched Scott's cheek in a poignant gesture. "Forgive me, Scott, I'm so sorry. . .I just love you so very much."

"I'm sorry, too," Scott said, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you, Melody Stewart Mendoza Lancer, and I'm never going to give up on you." He kissed her soundly, lifting her body off the floor with his joyful embrace, and she responded with a depth of passion he had only hoped for.

~•~

When it came time for Scott to leave, he dared to broach the subject of her divorce. They stood in the entryway, overshadowed by a huge oil painting of the Scottish Highlands. He hadn't really looked at it before, but on closer inspection, saw that it depicted a brutal scene of a tartan-clad woman on horseback bearing down on a great white stag. He dragged his gaze away and began to say, "I'll, uh, I'll write to the judge in Sacramento-."

She shook her head and interrupted, saying, "No, Scott, it's not-."

"Melody, just this once, will you let me finish?"

She crossed her arms and waited with an exaggerated look of patience on her face.

Scott drew in a breath and said, "My father told Judge Palmer about your circumstances back when I asked him to, a few weeks ago, and the judge's response was agreeable. So if we travel up there, with a suitable chaperone, of course, and make an appointment with him, in person, I'm sure that you can obtain a court. . . what are you laughing about?"

"Scott, my dear, what do you think I've been doing the past couple of weeks? I went up to meet with the judge and he signed the annulment papers." She laughed with relief and happiness. "I'm free!" When Scott just stood there, taken aback, she said with a smile, "Best close your mouth, my dear, lest a bumblebee. . ." She didn't have a chance to complete her sentence because Scott picked her up and hugged her to his chest. His mouth came down on hers, his lips expressing his love in a way that his words never could.

~•~

The wedding had been much larger than Melody had expected, and smaller than Scott had wanted. The newlyweds had moved temporarily into Melody's house, with plans to set up their permanent residence at the Lancer hacienda as soon as the renovation of their rooms in an older, unused wing was completed.

Scott found that with his new bride warming the sheets, he didn't want to get out of bed in the morning. As a bachelor, even after a night on the town, he had always risen earlier than anyone else in the household. Now he lingered in their large bed in the hopes of having another session of lovemaking, but first he had to wake Melody up.

She lay face down, her face deep in the pillow, her hair spread across the sheet. With great care, Scott pulled back the covers and laid tender kisses along her naked shoulder. She stirred when his mouth warmed her back through the fine cloth of her nightgown. His hand pushed the folds of her skirt up her thigh, but when he delved into her warm depths, she rolled over.

Melody slung her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to meet her welcoming mouth. "Mmm," she murmured. "You still taste of strawberries." She looked over her shoulder and, ignoring Scott's grip around her waist, reached for a nearly full glass of champagne on the bedside table.

"Isn't it a little early?" he asked as he accepted the glass from her.

"For drinking champagne or for making love?"

Scott replied, "I meant drinking, but I retract the question." He took a sip and offered the glass to his wife. "I'm afraid it's flat."

Melody finished off the glassful and put it aside. Her hand reached under the covers and stroked her husband where he most enjoyed to be touched. She smiled coyly. "At least this isn't flat."

Scott laughed. "And neither is this." He took her breast in his hand as he kissed her lips soundly. "So, my lady, when are we going to start that family we were talking about last night? "

Melody slowly smiled, her face alight with an inner glow. "I think we already have, my love. I think we already have."

After a while, when the lovers were finally sated, they rose from their marriage bed and dressed. Scott pulled his pants on slowly, all the time watching Melody slip into her pantaloons and camisole. He had a feeling he would never tire of looking at her and wondered if he was predisposed to be attracted to red-haired Scottish girls such as Melody.

When she went into her little dressing room off the bedroom, he called to her, "You sure you don't want to lease out this ranch, honey? It won't be hard to find a cattleman to run his own stock on it. We can arrange for the S-Bar-M to remain in your name."

Her head popped around the door. "I told you I want the chance to run it. I was just getting the hang of it when. . . well, when you married me."

Scott knew that she had stopped herself from saying, 'when Fernando turned up and almost ruined our lives.' They had pledged not to mention Mendoza's name again, but occasionally it seemed as if the man was still around. Murdoch had been informed that the Federales were also looking for Fernando Mendoza, but as of yet, nobody had caught the slippery bastard.

Scott had bought a new bed and furniture as a wedding gift for Melody, and had it delivered to her family's hacienda. They both knew that it was because he wouldn't sleep with her in any bed that her ex-husband had been in. Scott said, "I still think you'd be better off selling this place. Then we can invest the money together in some other endeavor."

"I want this land, this ranch, for my children. This is where I was born, where my mother and father died, and my brothers, too. This belongs to my family," she said in a muffled voice. "Scott, will you do me up?" She came out to the bedroom and presented him with the undone back of her dress, and arranged her tresses over her shoulder and out of his way.

Happy to oblige, Scott hooked up back of her bodice. "We'll have to get you a ladies' maid, my dear, for when I'm not around to do this." When he kissed the nape of her neck she turned around and was captured in his arms.

"Say I can keep my ranch intact, Scott," she pled. "You won't have to do anything. I'll deal with the hands, and Roberto is such a good foreman, it will practically run on its own."

Wanting to please her, but not sure he could live with Mendoza's shadow hovering over him every time he stepped foot on the ranch, Scott asked, "And how do you plan to finance this ranch? It won't turn a profit for at least another year, Melody."

"Well, you see," she said cautiously, "I have a little money put away." Scott raised his eyebrows, so she quickly added, "You see, I didn't come back to California quite as empty-handed as you thought. It isn't much, but I know I can make a go of it."

She turned her face up to his and met his gray eyes with her pale blue ones, and the love in them was evident to Scott. Unable to say no to her, he agreed, his mouth coming down on hers as she threw her arms around his neck. Once their lips parted, he murmured, not caring at all if she got her own way, "Oh, my love, I get the feeling you'll always get exactly what you want,"

"All I want is you, Scott." Melody smiled sweetly. "You and my family ranch."

"Then we should both be very happy."

The Lancers finished dressing and went down to breakfast together, making plans and talking about their dreams as newly married couples do. They went through that day, and through many others as well, with the promise of love and family on their minds, and with peace and happiness coloring their souls.

~•~

EPILOG

Despite being wounded by a bullet from Scott Lancer's rifle, Mendoza made it to Mexico in one piece. He even lost the dogged lawman who had been on his trail for hundreds of miles. But when Mendoza confronted the Federales, they denied having employed him to assassinate Juan Paradine and, by order of the Governor, tossed him in jail. Mendoza soon escaped. Incensed at the Federales, he swore vengeance on both the lawmen and the Lancers, whom he blamed for taking everything from him - his name, his land, his future and his woman.

Fernando Mendoza became the new comandante of the Comancheros, who accepted him without any objection, and led them on raids for cattle, guns and women. They cut a great swathe of violence back and forth across the border for many months, until the night Mendoza was murdered in his own bed by a hired gun. In time, Mendoza's short but bloody reign became heralded as one of the worst periods in the history of the border. The gold that he had stolen from Juan Paradine, the legendary Comachero bandito, was never recovered.

Scott and Melody Lancer moved into their new quarters in the Lancer hacienda and started their life together. Even though their firstborn child had dark hair, the next three were as blond as their father. Neither Scott nor Melody ever regretted their marriage and, indeed, had a loving and satisfying life at Lancer. Melody found the funds on her own to successfully run her ranch, the S-Bar-M, with Roberto Cipriano as her segundo, until her children were old enough to take it over, and so kept her family's land intact after all.

~•~ The end ~•~


End file.
